REVOLUTION ON MY MIND

I felt so rootless in my own country. Why? Where are the leaders they told me to look upto? Disillusioned, I started rummaging for culture in my street. I found some coke bottles, cigarette butts, stinky condoms and blood stained sanitary napkins torn to shreds by the street dogs. I saw a boy crying and I thought I should lift him up but I was always so aware of the lurking dangers of reacting to anything. So i left him crying there. I tried forgetting what I couldn't. And look what I did! I forgot what was never intended to be forgotten. And now I ache to remember my mother's face but I catch broken glimpses of her features. We had lived together in a moving box. So when they moved us into the open, the wind caught all the pictures and lost them all into that damned big city. Now I live in an unknown space and I don't know who these people are. But I can sense myself in them sometimes. So I invite them in for a drink. And we perform rituals to juice out our respective pasts. We try to articulate our disillusions. We re-remember and sometimes rediscover some lost pictures under the heaps of plastic and tears gone cold.