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Of Springs & Circles

Yesterday was an inscrutable day.

Nothing was out of order.

Much like an unopened pack of cards.

And nothing jumped out like a jack in the box.

Smiling heinously at forced amusement.


Four syllables enunciating an emotion,

Of absolute static.

The leaves too, stood still.

As if the world had sucked in its gut.

And we were stuck,

In the moment,

Between breaths.

Is static but the silent flatline that we apparently abhor but desperately desire?

The day before.

I’d craved for normalcy.

Shrouded with greying thoughts of ungodly possibilities,

Yesterday was absolutely ordinary,

Almost as if the monotonously synchronous movements of a cook at a war camp under attack.

And today,

Ah, the exhale.

Today started like the magic 8 ball.

Where all my inexhaustible questions.

Got cryptic answers.

And soon turned into straight up roulette,

Where I couldn’t but gamble for a 1 in 36 odds.

Of setting my life back in order.

If I look back.

I can see pockets of order,

As small as those sewn in a lady’s pants,


Existent; But hardly useful,

Yet; my days are like the

,... ,.

Of morse code.

A spiral.

Which is almost a circle,

But always misses the end and slips down further.

I wonder,

Would I be able to break out of the spiral,

Like an old spring that breaks into many pieces,

And each piece is just an irregular part of a circle,



will bring,

The break.

And I.

Will be able to complete the circles.

Of ordinary.

And that,

Which isn’t.

And whatever remains,

Will be stored.

For the next spring break.

Till all circles.

Are complete.

And I can finally be free.

Do you feel the static too?

As humans, we desire. And since this desire is a cumulation of what we thought we needed in the past, we often outgrow it. So instead of running in circles, we’re actually running in springs with the starting points in the past and the rest sort of spiraling into the present, without an end, for by the time there’s a possible end, there’s another past that makes it detour into another spiral.

Prose here attempts to capture this thought. The Easter egg though is the Morse code embedded in the slides: each “.” At the end of a verse is a “.” In the Morse code and each “,” is a “-“. Each indented line is a new letter and paragraph a new word. It was an incredible experience trying to incorporate a literal communication mechanism in an artistic expression of the same, and I hope for those of you who have the curiosity, patience &/or knowledge/interest of it, it will be an exercise into finding a meaning, not just in the prose and how it resonates with you, but also in how it sticks.

Fun fact: Morse code was in fact invented by Samuel Morse for electrical telegraphy in 1830s after his wife passed away and he couldn’t meet her for one last time. Sad story, but what a helpful solution. Love truly is the necessity of all inventions.

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