FLOWING MOSAICS

It’s surprising to imagine the dumb ways the annoying changes Corona brought about in me more than I hide from admitting. It deformed me into an inexcusable lazybones as a Hippo – infested with do-nothing inertia and a stuck mind – negligent, carefree: behavior we shun to see in brats and never approve.

Worn out for six months filling days with nothing but bumming in and out of empty rooms at home where I haven’t much to look at but the corona bred emptiness spilling all over alleys and streets.

Stomping around cursing the lockdown restrictions, feeling like all the days were a whipped mass of endless, and an ill-defined month of Sundays. I imagined the impasse like something standing forever in the middle of a desert, all directions shut: the only words playing on my lips – fear and confusion.

Though having the bookish reads close to my chest, shut in hanging indoors, sometimes I look blankly at the bolts, doors and empty skies. I got used to solitary life that turned out so nonchalant like a caged neglected primate.

Bored to suffer any longer the locked-up inactivity, one day, I flip out for a risky two-hour ride to the banks of river Krishna. I hesitate to pitch my camera gear, fearing the flooding hazard. Despite, I perched cautiously close to the crashing waves grabbing the flowing mosaics, with the shutter release button.