Pitching a lopsided tent in the desert

Why lopsided? Why a desert? Why a tent for that matter?

Those images came together while staring at the moon one night, waiting for sleep.

They came together while casting for earliest memories, looking for the shiny, happy ones but finding the mottled and grey ones along the way, seeing the fleeting instants of joy and the long drawn out periods of misery and viewing successes and failures with an observer’s eye, sans the pride or rancor that accompanied them at the time.

It was a very limited, very finite collection. If memories were the uneven staffs planted in the ground then life was  like a fabric stretched over these staffs in a lopsided manner; the shifting sands of time or fortunes making this a struggle.

One wants to believe that lives get built by stacking one kiln baked brick atop another and cementing them together to ensure firmness and solidity, that this is how life’s architecture takes shape.

One aims for such an outcome but what one gets is a handful of uneven and inadequate memory staffs and the tattered and tired fabric of life to stretch over them while shifting and flailing along the sands of time.

1 Comment

  1. The writing is great, it conveys the essence of the shifting, pondering mind well. These thoughts take refuge in my mind too, more often than I’d like for them to.

    The more I think along these lines, the more miserable things tend to seem. Which is why I am now more convinced than ever that just being or thinking isn’t enough – doing is what is called for – in order to make those staffs stand tall and upright, at least for the future self to look back on when sleep evades on future moonlit nights. Oh well..easier said than done of course 🙂

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