Welcome to another week of a cloistered existence!
I do miss the fresh air, other than whatever can be inhaled in the balcony, but I don’t feel lonely. Online and telephonic contact has increased, and creativity is bolstered by new situations and stories I hear about. There is television for updates, but tailored, partisan news does not interest me. It shows more perspectives and concealed intent, than facts.
Then, what do I do? Cook, clean (which I did not do before the lockdown), read, write, sketch and paint. I’ve just started to learn charcoal drawing. I don’t know why I feel the sketches are darker than what they are intended to be. I blame it on the lack of proper tools – I use a regular eraser instead of the required kneaded eraser, cotton buds, pieces of tissue paper, a graphite and a charcoal pencil.
It takes me to this week’s writing prompt.
I came across a poem by Rebecca Elson, and I reproduce the first three stanzas here
ANTIDOTES TO FEAR OF DEATH
Sometimes as an antidote
To fear of death,
I eat the stars.
Those nights, lying on my back,
I suck them from the quenching dark
Til they are all, all inside me,
Pepper hot and sharp.
Sometimes, instead, I stir myself
Into a universe still young,
Still warm as blood:
Would you like to write something in a similar spirit, or just carry this ahead – in prose or poetry? Can you think of a story or anecdote or historical tale on the same theme. It should basically be a story of survival strategies.
Go where the prompt leads you.
As usual, there is no restriction on length or format of the piece. Write a post on your blog, and copy-paste the link here.
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