Sunday, April 13, 2008

strands of hair

Strands of hair hung loose on her forehead. She brushed them aside with a finger. They again stood at the corners of eyes. Shaking her head, she tried pushing them back. In vain.

Those brown eyes seeked shelter from the harsh rays of the sun. She longed to be within the comforts of her room, doing the things that caught her fancy.

Realising that her hair was in a mess, she pulled a band. And wound it around the bunch of hair that was held firmly in the hollow of her curved left hand. She went inside the building, and stood near the front porch.

The surroundings could be called lifeless. Not a soul was around them. Them constituted by a few people near the parking area. The silence and the heat was deplorable. Walking towards nowhere in particular, she felt restless. Looking into the open space, she waited. For somebody whose face was familiar.

That person did appear, albeit, a few minutes late. Humming a song, she swung her head to the tunes of the electric guitar that was playing in her little brain. Swinging her hand over her head, she fingered her hair, without her knowledge. In the process, she loosened a few locks which invariable fell in place before her eyes. Like they'd been ordered to assume that particular position.

The afternoon changed into the night. As usual, she shifted, while in bed. Shoving some length of hair away from her face.

Standing in front of the mirror, she combed wet hair, that lay in a mop. Flinging the blue comb into the tray, she went out of the room, curling a stretch of wet strands around her forefinger.


The 'Ekaangi' said...

another of those lovely piece of writing... another post that makes me feel pathetic thinking of what i write on my blog ! you create stuff out of nothing... magic !

Srik said...

poetic! exuberant