Words.

They were just a couple of words. He couldn’t touch these words, but he could see them and he knew how they made him feel. They were words, only words. They were so real.

Each one of these words could have been used in a different place and at a different time, yet they emerged in this particular combination. He knew the meaning of each of these words like he knew the feeling of his tongue grinding itself against his palate. Yet, when grouped together, the meaning of this particular combination of words eluded him completely.

He was struck by a case of the real and the implied.

The words lit up the screen of his mobile phone, yet their effect blew out the candles within him.

“What could they mean? Do these words mean what they seem to mean or is there a hidden meaning?”

He sat there, trying to rewind the lines and find the hidden meanings. He hoped to find an implied meaning or a reason that could rebut what these words actually stood for in the literal sense. To everybody else, they were just words. To him, they were much more. They were a catharsis. A catharsis somebody had found a way to symbolize with shapes.

Everything started to make sense. All the shapes flew out of the screen and a live theatrical performance unfolded right there in front of his eyes. All the vowels stood on one side and formed the choir, singing their disharmonious songs. The rest of the letters had it out with each other in the center of the room. The weak alphabets were getting killed by the stronger ones. It was a riot. There in the corner of the room the ‘R’ raped the ‘T’. Nobody stopped to help the oppressed out. All that the oppressed did was die.

Soon there were none of them left. The only ones left were standing in the corner, laughing over how they had brutally murdered the rest. They were the same letters as the ones on his screen. It made no sense.

He looked down once more. There those brutal oppressors stood, mocking him with their mere presence. He couldn’t touch them, and he couldn’t delete them. They weren’t his words. He couldn’t take them back. It was too late.

They are still probably out there in the universe, leaving behind a trail of destruction wherever they go.

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About Banda Mann Singh Lamba

I'm here to create art in the form of words. Come, take a dip in my day dreams.
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