Tuesday, 14 April 2009

on the deaths of stories

the death of a story
is pretty pathetic actually.
i mean, after multiple attempts
one just stops bothering
and then, it's dead.
gone.
finished.
finito.
and, in the words of salman rushdie,
khattam-shud.

and one thinks,
how bloody amazing
that it could have been.
quite frankly, no one in the
world
could have written
like i would have written.
but the half remembered dream
that inspired it
and the half written draft
that survived it
are both forgotten,
and collect dust,
somewhere in my mind
somewhere on the internet
somewhere that's not here, anyway.

gods, the melodrama, i hear you say.
but even stories deserve a eulogy.
however badly written
however badly said.
it was a good story, and it died
before anyone heard it
before anyone told it
before anyone but me
managed to forget it.

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