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  • Sanvari Malik

Lines Over Lines

Line over line, taking necessary turns but each at it's own will. Forming shapes, prominent enough to make the people, standing above us all, make a conclusion from their brains anchored rock-bottom. Recognizing not, the weak, rooting for 'the people' pass on the whisper like a wild fire. The whisper tumbling down like dominoes and scatter among the waves of humans of every age- the new shape, the discovery, the new reality.

Line over line over lines- just like the voices and their shadows, in the shape of echoes, in my mind. My mind, sometimes wishing it didn't each echoed repetition,. Every repetition being a bit different, having dived in and through some extra layers of the 'material reality'. *Material reality, marxism, classicism, imperialism, materialism, the concrete, the 'real', the matter, the big bang, the sitcom, "but wait, capitalism!", the hurting and bleeding humanity, love it we we made it, The 1975, *AAA**. "AAA", and the brain halts, for a quarter of a second; calmer to its invisible ears; not the material ones flaunted by my body.

Lines over lines like modern art; but of thoughts and ideologies. *Ideologies, feminism, Virginia Woolf, her beautiful mind, flowery and wandering, her million 'repetitions which she penned down for us to see, her walks around the city, time travel, wanting myself to accompany.*

Lines over lines, the above wordy; and I am not the same person anymore. The one who started writing this, the one who tried to peak inside her mind; who emptied the drawers of her mind to write an apt 'write-up'. I have outgrown those words, this side of the paper, (now this empty white of the blog post), this chaos.

"I don't understand this", "neither do I!"

Perhaps 'understand' is a word which wasn't meant to be. As transient and camouflaged as it is, it should never have been a 'motive'; for it will move. It will move and hide itself in another ideological attic room from your mind palace.

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