March 10, 2006

A common greyness silvers everything

Death is invisible in Central London. Death happens in a dignified, behind-the-curtain way somewhere else. There is no sound of weeping or dying. Death is not to be seen while walking on the roads. I thought I saw a dead something on the road today, but it turned out to be soil.
There are pigeons everywhere, but nobody knows where they go to die. Nobody knows where they nest either, just as nobody knows where the black and grey camouflage coats who walk the road bring up their young.
Maybe I need to get out of Central London, or maybe the sun just needs to break through the clouds from time to time.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

poetess :-)

Anonymous said...

I think I know this anonymous. One anonymous found out another.

Prerona said...

v nice :)

mist-wrapt said...

Death, like grief, is private.

Handful Of Hell said...

Death is all around you, like darkness. But it is life that guides you like the piercing light. As long as you are cosseted by light, darkness shall be inconspicuous and inconsequential. Live life and let death die.

Ameet said...

Interesting association - death & the greyness of London. I can see why. Everything seems so sterile. In an insular Anglo-Saxon kind of way. It's almost as if life went to sleep, and grey death walks the street.

amma said...

how much we in india have to thank god for...
only if we learn to appreciate all we are blessed with, everyday sunshine for instance!