Words seem to linger, close, almost touching, but when one reaches out for them, they fall apart, breaking like a wave at the touch of the shore, cascading down a cliff into the nothingness beyond.
Humming the tune of a familiar song you sit in the corner seat of a rattling bus. The shutter being wide open, the wind blows you hair wild and brings the taste of dust and sea breeze to your lips. In a sudden moment of motion blur all seems possible, the world small, conceivable, life’s instructions clear, and words, they start forming, dodging there within your mind, waving in the wind about you. A voice within whispers- phrases incomplete, with a preposition missing -oblique yet profound. You repeat those words, they echo in your mind, fragments of divinity. The applause thickens in the background as people shove forward to shake your hand, to congratulate you on your achievement, the victory of a generation, you, the messiah of a world. Laurel upon laurel. As the arena vibrates with the roar of the engine, the melancholy whisper, in a bout of desperation, forms a shout, but the words fall, like shards of porcelain, annihilated by the trod of the masses, ground to dust by the foot of a thousand men. And as sudden as lightening, a blackness seeps in, the ink in your eyes, blinding you. Groping around in the darkness you reach out for the fragments of meaning that lie scattered in the sand. And there, in that moment, your voice is lost, buried in the wastelands of time.
