lahore lahore lahore
how you call to me. you are my adopted city. the city of my late orphaned childhood, the city where i went away and the city where all is green and the roads are clean and the parents are happy and the house has no economic terror and no sex and no happiness or sadness just oceans of comfort to drown in while playing golf and swimming and contemplating taking up tennis again
of teaching and loving it
of gathering pots and pots of money and spending spending spending on anything my heart desired
why did my heart desire this?
sitting, unsated, frustrated, awake, unable to sleep as he snores in my ear, the only caring being a tobasco bottle retrieved from upstairs at dinnertime and much appreciated
where are my promises?
where are my three meals a day?
where are my back rubs and my cuddling and my stolen kisses and unearthly wonderous lustful amarous attempts at my virginity?
where?
where?
where are we? why are we here
why am i here
where did we go and why can i go there too?
5 comments:
i miss lahore. very much actually :(
but what's even more sad is that i've lost the heart to go back there again. for now atleast.
change all you want.
but change together.
Ok. I shouldn't have read this.
You sound so much as someone I fear will sound say in three years. :D
God! The promises, the trasition of cities, all seem like chronicles of my disillusioned wife foretold :D
btw, do you actually believe in the promises made admist an emotional turbulance?
lahore ain't all that anymore, no place is, i fear. Home has lost its meaning and taken up a surrogte that does not do it justice. Home is no longer where the heart is but perhaps that is because the heart isn't home.
Snores.
I thought ... think ... that you begin to love those snores.
Don't you?
*terrified*
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