There She Stands

Hello world!

I believe I can justifiably say that, for I’ve been missing from this blog for the longest time – over a 100 days, WordPress tells me. During this, boy has a lot happened, most of which I wanted to write about here. But for reasons best known to Reason, I couldn’t. And then, suddenly, I couldn’t write at all. I wouldn’t call it any writer’s block, for the way I understand, that is when you at least have a will pushing you to write. In my case, I was blank – no ideas, no desire to write.

This morning, though, something just clicked. I’ve no clue why or how it happened, only glad that it did. Inspiration came, and as is usually its habit, at a place and from a source least expected.

It is a distinctly Bombay experience, the local trains. These days, I travel by two daily to reach the place of my internship at Andheri, changing at Vadala Road. So why am I boring you with the details? Because as I approached the latter, across the barricade that separates the first class from the women’s coach, I spotted this woman. Her expression I can’t describe – which is exactly how I believe it should be between Man and Woman – and stood staring outside the wide gates. As is usual in such cases, I’ve no clue to her identity, nor what she was seeing or thinking. But looking at her, and wondering what gave her the expression that she carried, somewhere Coelho’s divine Word decided to descend once again on my being.

And do I feel happy.

Here’s the poem this episode spawned. As always, I await your reactions.

There She Stands

There she stands,

Her eyes vilified by wisdom,

A longing, a seeking resides in them,

She stands staring at the imminent.

 

Clouds pregnant with a million hopes,

Of renewed life, a new song, perhaps a holiday,

Around her breathes Life,

She stands staring at the dark, endless sky.

 

The train chugs along, bound to its path,

Each day, the same stations, the same stories,

Millions travelling to the same destination,

She stands staring at the homeless beggar-girl.

 

The terminal approaches, and the coach ferments,

For the world awaits its foot soldiers to report on duty,

She’s the last one off the coach, and as the herd rushes,

There she stands.

 


Your thoughts, your criticism, your feedback – all are very welcome. They help me know if what I’ve written resonates with you. Please consider leaving a comment below and telling me how this piece made you feel.

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5 Comments Add yours

  1. Anamika says:

    Hi,

    An epiphany never fails to please!

    However, the poem really works for me more from the p.o.v of technique. Was that a conscious effort?

    Like

    1. abhiqrtz says:

      Nothing that I write is a product of any conscious effort.

      Art, the way I see it, isn’t about the artist’s creation; it is the birth that the viewer, the reader, experiences when in its midst. It is not a force to control, it is a mist to indulge and let take what shape and route it will.

      I hope that answers your question.

      Like

  2. rama srikrishna says:

    Strangers do have strange effects…… Manu
    They are like inspiration…. Fleetingly beautiful …..then we give a form to hold it in our memory and relish it from time to time…….
    I connect to the image so much

    Like

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