by Maggie Paul
The thousand friends i have cultivated virtually, carefully internalizing their interests – anticipating reciprocity
Would not
Fill the space between me and my elusive peace – as i reach out to it in the night, alone, across my bed
The thousand longing sonnets i dedicate to you, for all to see – carefully woven symbolisms from the ‘blood’ of my gut
Would not
Come to my rescue – when you’re actually there – all flesh and blood, while i reach out to my phone to create a more imagined ‘you’
The thousand means and tools and weapons i possess, carefully used to track your every twitch and itch
Would not
Substitute the lack of actual words between us, when i drop back home at nights
The thousand ways i can capture the beauty of your angles, carefully perfecting the light, the colour, the effects, even the after-effects
Would not
Elicit the emotions that that one dilapidated picture could – clicked of your imperfection – ossified in our endless laughs
The thousand words i speak of your liberation, carefully regurgitating recycled theorems, rewoven theories
Would not
Help me understand your one day of lived bondage
Author’s note:
The use of I in small case is deliberate and perhaps idiosyncratic. This is so since the author feels the word with which we denote ourselves is like any other word. It is the author’s belief that a social construct that gives undue stress on a person’s ego leads the capitalization of ‘i’ – just like the capitalization of g in god.
Maggie Paul passed out of Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai in 2012 and is currently working with YUVA, Mumbai – that engages in the fight for the rights of the urban poor – to reclaim their “right to the city”. She is a conscientious person and aspires to be one among the many voices for the rights of the excluded. In an extremely consumerist and over-impinging world, she is in an active pursuit to keep herself from getting overwhelmed or co-opted.
