The Echo of an Albatross

I am there, yet not there.

"No one showed us to the land,

 and no one knows the where’s or why’s."

I am in multiple splits this day. When each thought is a moment’s guest. You phase in and out of them, like closing and opening multiple doors, often to land up in the same alleyway.

Even in a night of morbid silence, there is this bedlam of noises. The ticklish mouse, the portly lizard and the bored to hell creaky fan, all whistle away to my mind.

From somewhere far, the strains of Echoes waft in. High enough that you can make out the music, but low enough that you can’t hear the song. You start building mental bridges, from one strain to another, from the bedlam around to the cusp of the music, from Gilmour’s solo to Wright’s piano.

From somewhere within those recesses, a form leisurely rises. Stark white in the glaring black around, overhead the albatross just hangs motionless upon the air. 

“Strangers passing in the street
By chance two separate glances meet
And I am you and what I see is me”

Slowly, every so slowly, she floats ahead, around those bridges you hoped to build, and unknowingly perhaps, you float behind her, rising a 2feet higher into a no land and no sky.

But, like the music you strain to hear and like the words you fail to colour, the albatross remains out of reach. You smell her feathers, glimpse her white wings and feel their flutter in between the clouds, but never ever does she steal a glance below. 

Unfazed, she guides and heartbroken you are guided.

“And do I take you by the hand

And lead you through the land
And help me understand the best I can
And no one calls us to move on
And no one forces down our eyes
No one speaks
And no one tries
No one flies around the sun”

-Palash

July’2013, Lumding.