Pensive|

#review *Words* . . My words seem to me like the prisoners who are always on the lookout of a jailbreak. Trying to escape nausea and suffocation of this human body and just flow with the melted air! My words seem to me like the slaughtered soldiers, who gave in every ounce of their body to fulfil the purpose and make a statement. A statement harbingering vows, wishes, guilt and hopes. My words seem to me like the despondent widow, who has lost purpose! Life seems like trauma to them. With their adornments of punctuation marks, similes and allusions taken away, they struggle hard to make peace with life and lie alone on a white sheet of paper. My words seem to me like pearls of my favourite necklace. Broken and shattered due to all the frictions which my chest went against! Behind the curtains and under the sofa, those pearls now lie in the darkest areas of the room, away from my reach. I try looking out for them and my fingers brush against layers of dust which somehow surreptitiously made its home in my home! My words seem to me like a collection of handicapped letters, hoping to find someone who'd sew them together to make a point! My words seem to me like a tranquillizer, relieving me of the attacks of the incomprehensibility of my self-composed queries pertinent to my insecurities. My words are a part of me. No actually, I'm a part of my words. Trying hard to build a sensible sentence which makes sense and does not loses its identity in the line up of paragraphs! ✍ Pooja Dewan #P.D.