Music

It was not any of these days. Or was it yesterday or is it just a memory of a neverday. I opened my eyes, it was dark inside and outside didn’t exist. The neatly rolled joints were placed on the window. The window led to another dark room where slept a guy whose name I still do not know or rather I should say I know him by many names. It was winters but all I remember now is the warmth. We were atleast five sleeping on the bed with one quilt to share. I didn’t belong there but I guess they knew I do not belong anywhere. Each one of them made sure I was always covered; had my share of the quilt, the share which was not mine.

Then the guy with the car came. He brought bright day light from the open door. We let love birds fly in the room. We left the cage door open. They thought they were free as we think we are free. We drove through the green fields. More smoke came out the windows than the car’s back side. It wasn’t strange because strange was nothing and everything at the same time. We saw black buck, peacocks, a hermit who knew the present he took us to this guy whose car was struck in the field. The poet got mud on his face trying to help. I think people who are good with words and have equally good heart should not get into the ring. Damn we all will be shot indiscriminately.... Now fuck that.

There is music everywhere but only he who is an artist recognises that. We made noise and to some not even in a funny way but then they let us any ways.