Give me your shoulder. Will you ?

We are touched in a unique way, by the voices of support that have poured in from other cities dotted under other skies that envelope planet Earth. Thank you.

I am numbed by what i see on TV. Still. I go about my motions with a stoical face and a constructed facade. A multitude of emotions engulf me. And i want to write. But just as i begin, my keyboard seems to have a strange glue on it, and fingers don’t move.

I have been sitting here for about two hours now. Staring a vague and empty stare into the computer screen. The screen saver, like an opportune politician who shows up when there is nothing else to the screen, has least impact today.

My grief seeps through. The innocence of the lives lost best matched by the valour of the sacrifice. The spirit of revelry that is the usual scene at this geography, matched only by the grim canter of duty.

The sun has set here. The heart is heavy. The throat is constricted. The voice refuses to escape the lips. The nails are chewed off. The head is a trifle heavy. I occasionally get up and switch on the TV to see the odd commando fire. I quickly get back to staring at the computer screen.

Yes. As i wrote earlier, We will get them. All of them. In the days to come. But, that, will be, ‘in the days to come’. For, today, allow me to mourn the loss of life. To grieve. Let the residues emerge. Let my tears flow from my eyes. And perhaps from my soul.

Give me your shoulder.

Will you ?

Blowin’ In The Wind

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, ‘n’ how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, ‘n’ how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they’re forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, ‘n’ how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, ‘n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it’s washed to the sea?
Yes, ‘n’ how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, ‘n’ how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn’t see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

And until the next post, this picture of flowers that i clicked at Mahabaleshwar last month, and Dylan ( who has been keeping me company for a while now) will perhaps echo to you, a sense, of the cornucopia of multiple emotions running through me.