Monday, 7 January 2019

The Table’s Soliloquy - Unplugged


Date: 27.05.2050

I was smeared with the dust of an abandoned entity so heavily that it formed a permanent layer of melancholy over me. It was easier for random hands to scribble over me as if I was a canvas to give shape to the whimsical thoughts and desires of an amateur artist.

 My body was still strong enough to shoulder the burden of hands that would rest vigorously over me, to be the instrument to dole out  beats to the songs that were hummed on a cold January evening, to be resistant against the accidental spill of the tea on a monsoon evening that erupted from the mixed humour of the reunion party, to be a part of the date that connected two souls for the first time.

Today, I sit in a museum and wander why the people of this digital world regard me as an archeological wonder or is it the illusion of of your virtual imagination?  

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