contentment eludes words

words come from lonely friday nights; words are the despairing exasperation of fat thighs and uneven chests. they are the friends of irresolution, unfulfilled wants and abandoned needs made real. when those things that exist only in imaginations are pronounced and enunciated, they are made real, expanded in consciousness and reality. but they are also confined, locked in alphabetical order. when lumps in the heart are put into text, they are known, catalogued and read like recipes for dinner.

then comes a time like tonight, 10pm at a bus stop in the east waiting to go to work in the quiet monday city. a swelling rises against the revolutions of tyres and rattling auto-parts. someone whispers, things will happen and it'll all be better. someone sits beside me in the front seat of the upper deck on the bus, and says to me, here we go! something says you dont know me but i make you feel frickin' good. there is no name, no way to say i know you, i've known you before. this is a sensation that drowns vocabulary and decimates grammar. it comes but leaves no mark on an empty page. so, when it goes and i get off the bus onto crazy and dark Indian streets, i forget what it feels like; i cannot call it back to play again when i like.