Today when the sun would shine tearing apart the night's gloom,
It would peep through my curtains in search of it's friend
But, I would be gone.
The wind would carry the faint smell of my breath,
The creased bedsheets would announce my farewell,
The lonely chair in my room would sag in dismay,
The yellowing pages would lease life,
The blotted stains on those crumpled leaves of my worn out diary would hold my memory,.
The hawker by my door would miss a buyer,
The ice-cream parlour, would miss a lover.
I would no longer hear the honk of a roadside romeo,
Nor my mom's familiar clink of bangles,
No newspaper would glorify my disappearance,
Life would go on, but I would be gone.
"Read between the lines", I heard our professor say. We were in midst of a Victorian text. I looked at her point blank. She had spoken about something which I had no clue about. "Ma'am, would you please elaborate? ", I tried framing this sentence in my mind but my introverted self overpowered my inquisitive soul like everytime. I hopelessly waited for an explanation. Ma'am started explaining about how beyond the surface meaning of any written text, there lay a wide plethora of meaning which wasn't explicitly stated. She talked about finding a void between the written words and our imagination, that void which shapes our interpretation. That explanation opened doors to my perception of reading a text. It wasn't that I had never considered about the possibilities of meanings that lay coated in words until then, but, what perhaps I lacked was to look for that void where I questioned the layers of meaning, where I put myself in those layers of wo...
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