A failed poem I am.
Simple, yet complicated.
The more I untwist,
The more it goes winding on its curve,
the rope of life, by which I hang.
…Yet I hang. Till I fall.
Hurt, bruise, tire, yet hang on.
And wonder why.
Even after all the undoing,
it would come to the same point.
Fall why dont I? Fallllllllllllllll !!
~ Purvi Petal, © May 24, 2011
P.S. : I wanted an image where a woman is unwinding like a rope does, opening itself, emerging from the rope is a woman, hands held up like its two strands, spinning as it untwists. However I got this one. The pic above is taken from LA MANŒUVRE: MUE. There’s a scene in Mue where a woman with a mask on the back of her head—a mask with shoulder-length hair that obscures her ordinary face—climbs a rope, straddles and inverts and turns. There’s a life inside, there to be glimpsed.