[T]he importance granted to history is the consequence of this infinite receding of the origin and of the recognized impossibility of ever determining the laws (or designs) intertwined in it. The fate of an embryo as a species is written nowhere: within the “generic preformation (of the model that the organic creation no longer transgresses today), their becoming is an adventure |
(Recently, we found this hint at some themes explored in Bollywood Storm – especially Book II: Mumbai – embedded in a philosophic discourse.)
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I came across a poem from a writers forum I hosted called Ki Meela, which is the title of a novel I began writing in 2005, before I began writing Bollywood Storm. It was a wonderful time of exploration and playing with language and Form. The writing was mostly free flowing and immediate. Here is one I called "Tumbleweed".
I was born a tumble weed rolling whistling in winds a white shadow against the night hurled through terrains stumbling hoping for blue skies a sun to warm me a breeze to cool me Once Upon A Time A Dream Held Me The Wind Driving Driving Driving Shadows grow less - grow more Shadows grow less - grow more Shadows grow less - grow more a spark of light too small but enough to give strength I begin Driving Driving Driving The cloud covered the moon and I walk through a jagged angry rock filled passage placing one foot carefully after another I tumbled Fell Fall Falling Down Down Down to The Bottom I lie there Still still lying there Not moving a muscle Lest the pain begin Do not move me for I am safe I'm not in pain - I beg of you to leave me be for I am happy happy in my stillness, darkness and quietness But Then God's Eyes Blinked Get up! Get up! Get up! ....why? Get up! Get up!! Get up!!! LIVE!!! ...why when all I eat is scorn ....why when I cannot find a comforting word ...why when terror follows my wake ...why, I ask? "Because you are not a tumble weed. April 20, 2007 |
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N.K. Johel lives in Vancouver, British Columbia. She is an artist writer. Categories
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