Mosquito Carcasses

I sit still on this white-sheeted bed wrapped by this beautiful blanket which I wish I could steal (such shades!). The wall-mounted table fan (such irony) gives me company in the silence of the dorm. My dorm-mates have gone for a night journey. Sleep beckons from some deep pit, its voice is feeble. It was innocently interrupted by an excited phone call from my younger sister. My throat is sore from all the speaking I have done today (such volume!). Speaking is a political act. Silence is too. Yet I realised the un-bailability of the former. One is trapped by what one utters. At least for a period. Silence is contemplative and spacious. Speaking, crowded and rushed. Silence = river of time = no end no start = unending. Speaking is time-bound and linear. It is the pebble that raises waves in the present and the future. And hence speaking is also ego-bound. More the 'I's in the discourse, more the illusion. Speaking is illusory. Speaking is also an untruth.

I remembered the goodnight probably belonging to one of my very meticulous dorm-mates. It is nice to be prepared. I switch it on. No mosquitoes now. Only mosquito carcasses. Or is it 'carcasses of mosquitoes.' Even contemplation has a grammar. :)

The 'zzz's of sleep now descend.