I have this bad habit of scribbling some lines on any paper that’s available and would keep that paper among thousands of others in my bag. Recently, one torn and old paper jumped out of my bag; which fortunately I caught hold of. It had the following lines scribbled on it. I wrote this more than a year back.
What are we??
A collection of minutes
Every minute contributing to a memory
Every memory dying to last till the End
But the End is far away
This minute is too long
Even longest than the last hour
I’m trying to listen …that which was never said
I’m trying to see … something which doesn’t exist
I’m trying to catch … which is impossible … My Soul
In this minute of my life …
… I’m waiting … for this wait to get over