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.
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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