Thrills of scaling the precise words of a crooked dancer : a broken structure or pose with a timid sensuality of ending the last ceremony of her beloved practice which she called - love.
Caring through the rigid stems of practice and persuasion, of sewing up torn legacies and unfrilled snake skins - she laughed through harrowing torments and settled down with abominable kins. Her hands were tied to the circular nest filled with scrawny cocoons and wired fences. The breathing land outside called her with every nocturnal tune to take her away in a sion, where the birds do indeed fly, instead of lending those wings to bait less snakes. Her harrowing cries end the day when the horizon meets the sun of May. Gails of Sunday hails the clouds to once again bring out the burning sphere and shatter the burdening fear which pulled down the bird in her spiral nest.
Stories like these hone our imagination to a greater extent, thinking and Rethinking about what is it that the writer wants to convey? Why suddenly dancing whispers? Why a bird? Why nest? Is it about home, is it about repression, is it about domestic abuse or is it about responsibilities. You see having interpretations of even meaningless sentences derives a stature of our mind where we could realize that it isn't just one part of our thinking that is constantly active- the thinking which the world has trained us into, but it includes several parts of thinking which we subconsciously harvest in our own minds and its like an undiscovered mine of knowledge. If subconsciously we could garner so much, then how come consciously it seems fruitless to invest some time in analyzing the everyday.
You are right, it is about women. It is about her struggle, it is about the intimate acts of care and the backstory of emotions which drives us passionately towards a dream land where all the members of the family are healthy, happy and thriving while we could rest in the shadows, where we are endlessly running a machine of reproducing the same things which were taught to her while she was growing up. She subconsciously produces the feels of rage, despair, volatile anguish, frustration - yet all that comes out of her is the hyperactive vigilante who is a fugitive in her own land of thoughts. She forgets her everyday misfortunes and buries them bit by bit with the help of the Demon babies who make her subconscious fall asleep everything it wants to rebel.
Rebelling isn't an act of conscience, it is an act of loosening the conscience to act consciously.
Be a rebel, fight, emote, read, think.
Write.
Thank you for coming till this far and reading the whole bit. The story which started this entry has the ending and explanation all laden within this whole writeup! Let me know if you found it.
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