I am just realizing that I’ve had a hole in my heart for a very long time. It didn’t fill up with the time that has passed, like I had thought earlier it would, and now i know it never will until I fill it myself. Stuff it with all the discarded waste in the world, from sawdust, rusk, vegetable peels, wasted bones from the butcher’s shop, dead bodies from wars, and all this will never have made any sense to me, how i’ll know, it will never be enough, and I will need to always press in more and more, if need be, barbarically jump on the filling and jump until everything is well in place until there is no more place for anymore stuffing, then pour cement over it. This hole i speak of, angry and obstinate, hungers for more, eats everything thrown in it, like a drainage basin, always empty. Sub holes, now, that i need to worry about. But can I? Don’t i already know where the holes all lead to? I need to die. Then the sea will finally fall quiet. And the howling beasts’ cries will begin to fade….
Here’s another photograph from my trip to Nagaland
There was a meadow of flowers, in the middle of a wide-stretched wilderness, sitting atop a hill almost forgotten, waiting to be discovered by me. It was bound by barbed wire, thick and rusty, where spiders nestled. I was hungry and cold, having lost my way.
Then I broke my way through the last of the brambles, I was brought face to face unto this heaven of wild flowers, just by the mere sight of which I was rejuvenated, in the bliss of which, I realized even though I didn’t have shears to cut through it was enough.
This sight of exotic temporal beauty would last only until sundown and I’d have to leave them before that and head off on my way. But, for the moment, while I sat so close to the meadow with my fingers nearly long enough to caress a flower or two, my being lost…
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