(Written in the feververy month of 2017. A description)
As things evolve, they get knotted up.
Like the room at the moment is made up of such sublime wooden criss-crossed ceiling, those walls painted so many times, those covered up lamp holder windows, those pile of clothes accumulated from so many different shops, some fit me some mother, those medicines containing wrappers containing baskets of plastics, those containers with small time snacks of the likes of biscuits and samosas, those furniture as sofa-set, bed and table and many more such things as electrical fittings, almirahs and dust and finally me, mine pencil and this notebook jotting down this for that supernova which will someday definitely happen judging by the blackness of it all.
The great unknotting that must be attempted to discern the nature of reality.
As things evolve, they get knotted up.
Like the room at the moment is made up of such sublime wooden criss-crossed ceiling, those walls painted so many times, those covered up lamp holder windows, those pile of clothes accumulated from so many different shops, some fit me some mother, those medicines containing wrappers containing baskets of plastics, those containers with small time snacks of the likes of biscuits and samosas, those furniture as sofa-set, bed and table and many more such things as electrical fittings, almirahs and dust and finally me, mine pencil and this notebook jotting down this for that supernova which will someday definitely happen judging by the blackness of it all.
The great unknotting that must be attempted to discern the nature of reality.
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