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The palimpsest of my past



How important is your culture to yourself?

You never arrive at this conclusion, until temporal lens allows a retrospection of your past. What do you count as a culture? Is it intangible or tangible?

Is it in the marble stones that have turned soft like the cheeks of your beloved? The coarse closet cheeks aren’t irritable anymore. The disgust towards my beloved is alien as if it never was. Now that the dark peppery beddings of white coffee mug have changed, does it rest asleep across the town? What is her identity in new built environment beside the jamb? 

Would the color green and carmine, remind of what you left behind and make you cry. The love, they tell is in the eyes of the beholder. How wrong that woman is who observed the naked emotion but not the nudity behind. The mind’s own eyes leers in the past and yearn for that home. It is not the daytime but nights that turn harder. More than the path where foot found their feet, crumbled and learnt to rise again. What is the relationship of a wood to flesh it supports? 

Sheesham or teak see different than the plywood? Would unequal treatment be remembered? Indifference raises its own breed of sapiens for pragmatist action. There is no love lost. I believe in an achievement with a sense of excellence in this brave new world. The far off galaxy has new items in the closet. A headstand with another jenny. 

Another garden waiting to become contend. Handlebars and candelabra for a new light and a hope. Who knows, lower objects ruminate? I, human builds and travels leaving relics behind. In a league of my own.

 


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