By Dipanjan Chatterjee
I am the wind, the imperceptible, the hollow of the myths.
I slip by fingers and branches.
I am Ruby Tuesday.
I am the nevergirl from your dreams.
I have come back to claim my beloved. My beloved, trampled upon by incessant foot soldiers undone by overproduction of desire. My beloved, a desirable location, being by the side of the river. My beloved being spoken of in high-rises and colonial mansions. My beloved, overworked, till late of night, till I can become one with her, till I get to touch her.
A century back, I could see her. I could screech, blow, swoon, swoosh, swish, whistle, as I can, still, in Anatolia. As I can in Iranian films. As I can in Australian westerns.
My beloved, barren. My beloved of solitary mud-houses, thatched outposts, recluse pear trees, rambling sheep of woolen excess, unshepherded, carefree.
In Anatolia, I get to touch her skin and bone.
But here, I am the wind of nefarious breath, vengeful, wrathful, disgusted.
I will cripple the teeming millions.
Love is discourse of spectacle and violence.
Your philosophies are a nihilist’s manifesto, impotent rain of words.
I will stay till my heart is full.
I will stay till I have caught up with her, done with a century’s worth of talking.
The ghost will raze your city to the ground.
Dipanjan is a struggling writer based out of Kolkata. He takes a keen interest in freewheeling conversations.
Photo Credit: Divyani Sharma