Wayward thoughts: Uncertainty

“I am in uncertain communication areas,” he said.

The static on the phone lines droned. There were whistling-whirring sounds.

“Okay,” she said rather reluctantly. “We will speak again."

She heard the click clearly. How easy it is when things end.

She ran her hands over the red silk sash as her kimono came undone. She was facing herself in the mirror after a long time. Even then, she occasionally averted her eyes as every contour mocked her. She unfastened the clip in her hair as her brown tresses fell in a heap on her shoulder and slid down her back.

Watching herself intently, she enunciated every word: Uncertain. Communication. Areas.

Wasn’t that a part of her life? She was uncertain and could not even communicate with areas of her own body. She flinched as her fingers moved over her skin.

The waves crashed against the rocks, the wind blew sand in his face. He watched as his cellphone floated in the sea. He had thrown it away and now from a distance he could see the screen blinking and hear a soft ring, not yet drowned by the sound of the sea. Within a few seconds a huge wave came rushing towards it and took it away.

“To uncertain communication areas,” he told himself as he smiled and smelled the red silk sash deeply.


  1. how much more abstract can one get.. I guess it's about the mood... ? Also, is this what some people call poetry in prose?

  2. There was an interesting study sometime back I read, a house was made of mirrors ...all over ...on the floor roof and walls ...all you could see was yourself .the 'subjects" lost their usual mental peace in 7 days as they had too much of themselves ....While we are next door neighbours to our body and soul, we remain fartheset away from them...and the bare truths are often compelling ...we hide them...."Denial" is a as critical as food , it can vary in kinds and quantities but is essential for existence....

  3. Atul:

    Abstract? I'd say stream of consciousness, mental acrobatics, internal monologue...I don't know what people call poetry is prose...sometimes getting prose to look like prose itself is tough!


    Well said. Though is it that the people had too much of themselves or of the mirrors, which also exist on their own?


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