On volatility of the human memory and the other things

গিলছি ধোঁয়া গিলছি জল গিলছি হাওয়া গিলছি মদ  

There is a rose in the water. Someone asks you to go and pick it up. You tell her to wait.
You return back the next day alone to pick the rose up to give her a surprise. You bring a tree trunk cut to the distance you measured the earlier day. You come back to the same spot. You measure the distance once again. Satisfied you start working. You hit the rose at the first attempt. The rose comes towards you. You hit the rose again now that the rose is closer to you. The rose comes a bit more towards you. You hit it comes you hit it comes you hit it comes. This continues. You get tired. You go away to drink. You return to find the rose back to its position. You repeat your try. You get tired. This continues. You find it too political. Fuck off and get yourself a rope to do bungee jumping in the free space your space entirely yours. You return to see the rose not there in the space anymore. You give off a shrewd broad peaceful acidic zincky smile and go back.
You go back to her and ask her ‘how did you find the rose?’
She says, ‘Sexy’.

The crow who was watching all these things perched at/on a coconut tree leaf was turning her head round and round……round.


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