Chairoscuro

Standing on the foyer, I see her; smack! a jolt of lightining hits me ...


I sense this eradicable demeanour engulfing me with its idea of brevity and economy, such was her face, her body conjoined with slender cylinder called limbs.



I move towards the sea of people surrounding her , darkness , smug admist the light contoured texture giving the illusion of volumn ; her.

Then it happened.

I rise up and came close to her , not noticing the smog that had englufed her as she stepped out of the gallery in the thick winter of the night.

Cars marauding by, amidst hapless people. Greys all around , shades of them, and her; still, in the middle of the painting, radiating light. Light and dark playing games with each other, vying to define the negative and positive spaces , the war happening between them while creating a despicably beautifull motif of an imagery.

That I came close to her to look to her in the eyes, those eyes that had till now had become sick and tired of the mindlessness around her begged me, I.... a stranger knew them. She had to go .. the grave injustice had to be resolved or it would grow like a cancer . One could easily question the notion of god for sending her here in this space of indolent ardour and her, a deep meloncholy.

As much as one look that I took the next moment my knife was rupturing the skin that her stomach wore. One deep slash and it was done. Written in stone.

Life oozing out, it was not her body but her head that contained all the life. The granite pavement was looking even greyer for one could contrast the red with its sterile shade.

In that deep incognito embracement, I knew I had found her , where noone else could reach.

The great tension resolved as she smilingly closed her eyes.