Friday 11 September, 2009

I suddenly find myself unable to write without going into the intricacies and theories of grammar. Syntax is going to my head. Some poet writes every song and John gave Mary a book. Pavarotti and Loren are singing but the colourless green ideas continue to sleep furiously. Even the shiny new linguist is baffled at times.

Colour me green

Fresh green leaves on old majestic trees are like a sudden splash of joy. An Old green gate rolling open into a vast stretch of green grass is my earliest memory. The field dotted with innumerable little people dressed in royal blue and white gave me a sudden burst of excitement.

The grounds were moody rather muddy during rains,light green and yellow with spots of earth in summer...It turned a brilliant hue after the rains and little people marched on the chalk dust lines during winters...the trampled grass came back to life in spring.

Splashes of Red

I have always owned a red dress all my life. whether it be a baby frock as a toddler or a slinky red skirt when I was older...and then the years of living in red t-shirts and then the hand me down red pants which turned everything in the washing machine red. Followed by the red salwar kameez...one piece of clothing that I have always owned and wear till date is a red riding hood cloak. My grandmother knit it for me..... I always go red in the face whenever I am excited...I wish my face wasn't such an emotional barometer and i wasn't the sentimental fool that I am...

Squiggles

Squiggles
my dreams of being an artist being shattered..

Orange

Orange juice and lemon soul for a penny... All the school girls are so many... The grass is green and the rose is red... Remember me when you are dead dead dead... --lines learnt in nursery