Sunday, September 03, 2006

Mistress of My SoUL

Dear Dulcinea,
sometimes i unnecessary feel like addressing you as "mistress of my soul".

I just landed in the bleak, dark, damp and soulless city of New York Manhattan, and the searing wind here is doing more than that minor harm to me, its not just giving that ever pervading cold to me..... but its constricting my heart.

The view from my window is of SIPA building and a solitary, lanky tree that is trying to save its dignity and grace from that same obtrusive searing cold wind.

The sofa I am laying has got jute covers, and is warm, and the most bright thing in the hall where I will stay for a week is the copy of Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust that you got for me from Scotland. His sentences only add more fleeting thoughts to my already illusory, malevolent, melancholic solvent heart and mind.

I don't want to go on feeling this vacuum in me without you……but that is it, without you there is nothing else to feel.

And so I remember Andre Gide…….

The greatest Joy of my life
Has been slaking of my thirst! ( of fluid and body….)

And none is there.


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