???????????????

Words flow like nothing else. But the poet reassures me that they don’t mean a thing! Nevertheless words flow. I continue to try to grab on many of them, although the reason I have been doing that for time immemorial I don’t know. I hook on to one of them, try to tame it, try to nourish it, try to sooth it, assuring it by saying “look, my dear creation, I really love you, I will make you suitable for this world beyond us, ‘us’ means me and you, me and my creation, me and the word I have just let come out of my cerebration, so let the poet be proved wrong at last.” But the words really don’t mean a thing. I tend to linger on the idea of creating words, creating sentences, creating a bunch of coherent sentences, creating coherence (at last!.... or…. at least!). Ideas, idioms, ideologies. But all of them have decided to fool me. They keep on befuddling me. “Oh! The impotent fingers of mine!” Nevertheless words flow, I keep on typing them out of my wholesome. Words come out of my nostrils, ears, urethra and anus, but they refuse to come out of my mouth, and thus they deny having meaning in themselves. The end of optimism, the end of ideologies, the end of communication, the end of the World………….. days lay ahead solely of for and beyond monologues. “Oh dear! Such a hoax!”…. but the words refuse to get cherished by me; rather they tend to enjoy me! Let’s start meaninglessness…….