i met a lost glove, sometime ago,
at the bottom of the stairs –
the one that takes me down to road,
the one where the girl slipped and fell, a few days before.
then i met a broken umbrella
stuffed into a bin at the bus stop.
although, it couldn’t tell me for sure,
i silently hoped that it had seen better days.
there’s hardly any trace of last week’s snow left on the streets,
just heaps and lumps grazed off and gathered onto the sides.
hiunma hamro neelo lamo chayya
afumai ramaudai nachdai chann
paglanu bhanda agadi, hami kehi samjhana
khaltima jamma garna khojdai chau.
the morning sun
makes shadows on
the white wall.
orange blue and grey.
this warmth could never
fill me enough though.
not in here.
if only writing it down
a thousand times
would actually empty it off
of all it’s meanings.
it does not matter.
det spelar ingen roll.
i would sit, head bowed
if these words were to
i could empty
my heart and mind
but what of hearts and minds
that are not my own?
the thought of stepping outside is enough to make me frown, but who says i can’t admire the pretty little frost crystals (revealing themselves) on my window pane?
how it can rain in this city,
for hours on,
drizzling without a sound.
like it were mourning for something,
lost very long ago,
until it forgot why it was mourning at all.
it takes courage to write in full sentences,
without riddles and metaphors.
and even when i do write,
i always want to behind letters, punctuations and old sores.
i woke up to tears this morning
where did they come from?
and why were they so heavy?
like they were excavating the path they were flowing on.
the air was freezing in abisko, and the water… i dare not even touch. i held my breath as we walked on frozen rivers and lakes, hoping i wouldn’t go crashing underneath. the day light stayed with us for only two or three hours a day. the sun rose and left before you could notice it’s path across the sky. it was wonderful. it was beautiful. the little colors of the day. the softest of blue, pink and purples melting into each other. the little ‘mountains’ of snow were funny. ‘these are not mountains’ i thought to myself, every time i saw them. shivapuri is taller than them, and we call it a hill. but these mountains have their own charm, and so does shivapuri.
the world’s biggest underground iron ore mine is being churned out every minute of the day in kiruna. with people and automated machines. i can’t imagine what thousands of tons of iron being hauled out each day looks like. the scale is beyond my comprehension and imagination. in over a hundred years, they’ve managed to build in fast moving elevators traveling a 1000 meters into the earth and a road network of 400 kilometers long…all underground. i felt like a borrowing ant as we went 500 meters deep into the ground, on a tour bus.
above ground, i could feel the mine explode at night. first a big loud boom and then a shiver that passes through the town, rattling windows and shaking beds. a minor man-made earthquake to live through each night. it scared me but what is even scarier is that the mine is set to cave in someday, taking with it the town it brought to life.
am i invisible
or do i make myself so?
or do i walk under a cloak
invisible to me?