Monday, 9 December 2013

Silver yarns

These cobwebs, still in my room. 

Thick and thin layers leading every facade. 

They extend from one end of the room to the other. 

They have seized my closet and my little clothes. 

They have wrapped the ripped copy of Shakespeare's sister lying on my table. 

They have trapped the alcoves in the walls.

They have draped my windows, my doors, my corners. 

They blotch my face in my reflection in the mirror. 

They lie brashly over my bed…… And me……

Occasionally, they swing from the roof like dead bodies. Their limber, filth coated arms soliciting support, swinging helplessly to the agitated revolving of the ceiling fan, of the fused tube light. And then sometimes, they throw up a twisting design on the white washed walls. 

I have attempted pointlessly to mark out this complex labyrinth, to place my shuddering finger where it begins, where it all began. 

But I, by no means can, I, by no means could. 

Occasionally, in the late afternoons when the sun lastly punctures through the deep green shades of the Peepal  trees, to pierce my room fearfully, it lights up the web that smothers the windows. Then, I feel sheer pleasure just by glancing at its rainbow gleam and its coy shuddering in the afternoon drift. The web dazzles like a thread of pearls.

They always glide from my fingers and drift away in the scented wind of the night, leaving behind a musty memory.  

But they are back all over again the next day and the next day and the next day, for the thin beautiful black spider that weaves them is a hard-working laborer. 

She resides in a particularly crumbling section of my demolishing one windowed room.
She has been weaving several webs of fragile silver threads, plastering the room with her presence, ever since the room was built.

And will carry on whirling thousands of such attractive silver yarns long after I have faded into the cobwebs. 

Occasionally, when one of these silky fibers hangs down sensually over me, I try to embrace them between my fingers and feel their brief existence but I can’t. 


  1. It is an experience which you have jotted down. But it is missing an important point and the point is what have you learnt from this experience. It is a creator's creation and it wouldn't be right to tamper with it but I would have loved an inference in the end. It would have completed the composition and gave it a fitting end. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful composition.

  2. I find your Blog incidentally and now like your writings, why you stop writing as this is your old article.