The circuitous pang of life’s loneliness often intertwines
itself with a twirling inanimate urban representation. As I passed by the
vintage house in the alley thronged by a mystic loneliness, the portrayal of
silent captivity peeped from the auburn window. Amid the choc-a-bloc traffic of
the cords crisscrossing the age-old cracks of the dull wall, I saw one lady;
inside the window whose fragile frame was ‘safeguarded’ with rustic trinity.
The windows were wide open as the golden sunrays
distinguished them. Quite intriguingly, the darker profiles of the window
outshadowed the sunlit ones. Intriguing, why?
One look through the jagged bundle of wires rendered the
solitary woman as her body was glistened by the midday sun though her head was
masked with oblong obscurity.
It depicted as if she was a shackled soul who was drowned in
surrealistic suspension of disbelief. A disbelief of bondage overwhelmed her
inner core as her head drooped into the irony of misery.
The sombreness found an organic growth in its inorganism.
A saga of captivity was played by the crack-embroidered wall,
strangling wires, wooden incarceration and mundane rusticity with the hapless
lady being the protagonist awaiting an elusive independence.
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