“But memories are time beings, too, like cherry blossoms or ginkgo leaves; for a while they are beautiful, and then they fade and die.” ― Ruth Ozeki, A Tale for the Time Being A couple of years ago, I read a book titled A Tale for the Time Being. The book was unassuming, part of... Continue Reading →
Earlier this week, I found myself completely unstitched, and then sewed up back again by the end of it. While trying to keep up, I thought of Kintsugi and what it would mean to glue our broken souls with liquid gold. If we could see souls, all of us would be walking skies with glowing... Continue Reading →
Three niches punctured a wall of the house To contain our weighing historical selves “A cross and a rihaal,” you said to me “Or one rosary?” I shrugged not knowing. You wanted a crucifix; I sought paint – White bulbs installed in tinted mauve niches. We couldn’t arrive at an agreement So we hung our... Continue Reading →
“What is the worst thing that ever happened to him?” her sister asks her. And the answer is nothing ever has. “That’s the problem,” she says. “He’s just a nice boy from Ohio. He has no idea how to fix something like this.” - Dept. of Speculation, Jenny Offill In a commencement speech, Joseph Brodsky,... Continue Reading →
I can hear the closing of the day. There's an abundance of memoirs - fallen words inside my coffee cup, unlit, unscented candles, the red postbox at the end of the street, and knots in my hair, golden and burnt each with a story to relay. The windows are closed, one by one, in steady... Continue Reading →
There have been times when those three words couldn't hold up on their own. They had to be supplemented with promises of transcendence from this life to the next. They had to be said every night like a flossing ritual. They had to be reminded of by using them as a salve after a bruise... Continue Reading →
With his smile, he re-arranged everything that was once lost, forgotten and abandoned inside me. I just didn't notice it. I was looking deep into his eyes.
Suddenly the words have drained their colours which have run down and smeared my fingertips, and stained my nails causing me to recoil every time I bite them in the anxiety of how I have lost the most precious of gifts - words. For I want to read a book, in the dead of the... Continue Reading →