I don’t know..
It is just this nebulous, breathy, wispy thought
no, not even a thought
for thought has contours
and edges
and a pulse..
this is not even that..
just smoke
of Ghalib’s aah
Maybe something
even more undefined
just the beginning of a thought
too afraid to know itself
or to take a deep breath
and say,”I have arrived..
in a world not ready for me.”
**
Reema Moudgil has been writing for magazines and newspapers on art, cinema, issues, architecture and more since 1994, is an RJ, hosts a daily Ghazal show, runs unboxed writers, is the editor of Chicken Soup for The Indian Woman’s soul, the author of Perfect Eight (http://www.flipkart.com/perfect-eight-9380032870/p/itmdf87fpkhszfkb?pid=9789380032870&_l=A0vO9n9FWsBsMJKAKw47rw–&_r=dyRavyz2qKxOF7Yuc ) and an artist.
One Comment
1 milind nayak wrote:
Very nice Reema
,especially the last two lines seem as if written for me.Feel that almost every day when I paint something new. Everyone, with a few exceptions seems to think that my old works were better. Maybe I have to pickle my new work for a while till it gets its true flavor.