Brinjal, and other ‘funny’ words.

English, sort of like a leech above a shoe, was hungry and searching for food. Slowly, it sucked life out of other world languages and fed itself. It grew bigger and bigger into a snake that coiled around the world, tightening its clasp, but bringing contents together.

And because it fed it self such a rich language diet, it became more intelligent. It learnt to wash itself with shampoo in subcontinents, to karaoke in islands, become quite the entrepreneur in high towers. It weaved its way, in and out of countries, and all the while it ate. It ate and ate and ate but forgot how to digest and degustate. Over time, the acid of its stomach began to erode the words. Words lost their original nature, but became part of English. These were special words.

Then one day, the English snake had a very big lamb.

But the snake had eaten so much, the walls could hold longer bear the stretch. The stomach of the ginormous snake burst and words rained on the rest of the earth. For the tribes in the jungles and the savannah, it rained the rain of special words, and this was manna from the skies. The tribes protected and multiplied the gift.

Years later, the tribes came to thank the snake with the broken stomach for bringing the world together in its hunger, with a return gift. However, the snake had learnt its wrongly and failed to appreciate the return gift. To the snake, the special English words were nothing but old vomit, that would tickle its belly.

This is the story of brinjal and other funny words.

The shape of music.

I follow the troughs and crests of voiceless music through the map of my words.

A map of my own creation,

guided my my inner beating compass.

It stretches itself out and screams while coming to a stand still.

Then, it picks up a wobbly pace- Up and down, Up and Down, Up and down, Up and down.

It builds suspense and makes turns by surprise.

The words to cluster together and up the amplitude of my message. Its shrill cry reverberates in my ears several times over.

I breathe in a new wor’d.

It whispers and caresses the ear of the one that reads it aloud.

I am the singer when I type words on a paper to voiceless music

Words course through my veins when I close my eyes. I feel the tickle.

It makes me cold, raising my hair on end.

Feel like you are the singer. Feel like you are in control.

I imagine my words walking.

I imagine it hiking.

I imagine it to be exhausted, like a human.

I imagine it to weep to cry and to have the greatest of epiphanies.

Such is the life of the mere human

Such will be the life of my words.

Write to the shape of voiceless music.