Musings of a Disgraced Lover

Musings of a Disgraced Lover

Minds, as fresh as dew-bathed roses in the morning, flutter around him, seeking reciprocation and he shudders in unknown fear. Age has calibrated his mind into accepting some and reciprocating some other maneuverings, but the wild call of the all-aggressive and at times seductive souls nonpluses him and he takes a step backwards and ponder about the consequences of such bodily misadventure, where mind may falter him at the crucial moment when the seamless progression will be the expected order, but only to be met with propped up enthusiasm bursting at the seams and all energy, vitality and youth, left like fire in the dying embers, getting scattered in the air and falling like snowflakes at the heart of Winter, when life takes a leave and all creation enjoys the period of hibernation in anticipation of the Spring. What if there returns a Winter while the Spring is in full bloom! He thought and his mind shuddered.

She was just sitting next to him

In a public vehicle

Her touch was soft on him

As she whispered under her breath,

"You don't touch, I see, but I will and

Slowly and slowly as the speed

Of the vehicle rises, be all over you."

He was taken aback. Given his age he should be spared the madness, or so he thought, his mind carrying him to a different time, when he longed for the touch, craved for the attention inwardly, but was too shy, too shaken to acknowledge. But now ... At this age!

"It's just the touch for the starved souls.

Just the touch mind you and nothing else,"

She whispered under her breath with the

Driver turning his head around and giving

Her a delicate stare, as if to admonish.

He was out of the public vehicle now, sauntering his way towards the queue that stood there -- men and women by men and women of all colors and age -- to get a ticket to travel in the tube to their destinations.

His mind calm and composed. Her mind bursting at the seams. His mind expectant and longing for a time lived. Her mind eager to catch the hour. Eager to live, eager to drink the life to the lease. His mind running away down memory's highway and losing itself in the labyrinth of another time with another company. He was as old as she is today and she ... There was no she ... then. Only a longing, brutal and benevolent gnawing at his very core of existence. What did he lack then!

Mind?

Power?

Masculinity?

Money?

Or everything combined?

What did he lack then?

The

Cool

Composure

That would remind you of the butcher, who had slaughtered a chicken and now moving towards a goat. A butcher, who had cut thousand trees without shedding a single drop of tear. A butcher, who had aborted a hundred lives underground in his bid to earn a fast buck.

But is he a butcher?

Or was he ... ?

Time stood askance as he stood in the queue. He was there yet not there. He saw light all around him and then a sweet smell, her smell, her face freshening tissue papers' smell ... she gave him a handful that her father got while travelling in British Airways. Who was she? A fading memory taking its measured place among the stars. He looked up and the light was a light year away ... fading star ... the beams of which has reached him today. Perhaps the star is dead.

But

the forgotten smell alive, transporting him out of the physical realm and into where he knows not ... .

He gave the exact money and got the ticket to his destination with the fading star keeping his company.