Friday, September 2, 2011

Murmurs


" Why she had to go I don't know , she would'nt say... "


There was some violence - i know of that. She looked slightly smudged , like a powerful , calloused hand had taken it upon itself to press her face down into a hard , hard surface. There were no countours, there were no bruises , there was no blood - there was a gentle blurring of her spirit , evident in the way she set the flowers, of perfect equal lengths. Her letters were written with dimmer ink , as if to drown out loud sounds .

Harsh . Light ...BURNS . I digress. Hands and faces meet - with force at times. Spirits are overrated and sorrow given too much importance. The light tingles now - a warm glow over something left slightly worse for wear. So what ? Why should this violence be questioned. Her loud questions are another form of violence - they violate all the quiet and peace around her , they provide no relief - there is no serenity.

And so she had to go. Till people there would figure out her dimming "spirit " , her falling "resistance." Then it would be time to move again - to a place of new relatives, where sharp reliefs of comparison no longer disturb her.
So people pressumed - and I judged - there was a break , we made much of her misery. Till we got distracted by the rays of the sun that again burnt us and had to go to inside amidst darker , deeper hues of comfort and her withdrawl from the town was forgotten , by the slow , gradual degrees of ladylike movement but all the same with the intensity of the burning sun.