Bitter, sour. My tongue has no taste.
Numb, burnt, rough.
I try to grimace, can’t hold it, let it drop
The look fades, and I
Eat, and wait for taste to return.
Insert a morsel,
Make the tongue play with it,
A dance begins, and ends.
Nothing.
I drink wine, syrup, coffee,
Again a tango,
But the dancers don’t meet.
Nothing.
Will it ever come back,
Or are my taste buds dead?
As I learn to live in the haze,
Forgotten by you,
I look myself in the mirror,
Try to remember what I looked like,
If I still have the eyes you looked into and held.
The body you explored,
Has it changed? Is it mine?
The hands that roamed over you,
Feel coarse.
I’m shedding skin.
I’m not dying. I will live.
Though it seems a waste,
I seem wasted,
I have new skin under me, I know.
Thicker, maybe?
But I yearn for the softness, the innocence,
Lost forever now.
The child you loved is dead.
Long live the adult.
If I look back at my surroundings six years ago, the Internet was nowhere in my horizon, there was nothing called a blog, even e-mail was barely there. It is interesting to see how being connected and having an almost uncensored platform for expressing yourself has shaped people’s personality, mine included.
Back then, I used to write in bits and spurts. The thought of ever taking my writing seriously never crossed my mind. Everything I ever wrote is lost in the various dust-laden notebooks, loose sheets of paper and other such unorganized media.
Today, I write for a living. The dream of writing a full novel, compilation of short stories, film script, children’s books, etc., doesn’t seem merely a dream–just something I have to make time for some day. I have joined writers’ groups on the Net, send my stories to my friends over e-mail and, well, have started a blog.
As it is for me, I am sure others (several times better than me, I’m sure) too have found a platform. The number of people in their 60s and 70s who are blogging amazes me. They are finding a whole new meaning to their lives and have found a place to document the legacy they plan to leave for their children. I wish my grandfather were around to experience this. Maybe I will start a blog exclusively for him–is there something called a ghost blog?
Nupur Chaturvedi 
Recent Comments