Monday, 20 February 2012


Today, I feel an empty mind, in that my wife is leaving home to see her ailing mother, and my right of living with her has such accordance to have a freedom to let her to see her mother earlier too, and now it is not the question why I feel a loneliness, but it is a centre of all round to the obligation and duty to let her go see an ailing mother and my duty also to visit her ailing mother, and that I do shortly, and earlier times, I have had many visits to my mother-in-law, and then I wrote a poem on her, too.

I am excited, too, at the same time. Excited to feel I am living in freedom a few days, as all members of my family are out of my house on different reasons. Yet I feel nervous when my wife repeatedly directs me what to do and what not to do in her absence, and particularly to keep my whole house in nice and tidy manner, that is, to keep everything that I use in her absence, in order of keeping them where it has to be taken out for my use. It is a difficult job for me, as I forget all when I am deeply thinking of my poems or when I am engaged in talking with friends in a social web site. Particularly I become more attentive in my writing, and then I forget to take my meals in time, that is served to me when my wife is at home. And her repeated sweet rebukes make me take my meal in a hurry at her time, not in the spill over time of my own. I like the feeling to keep me absorbed with stories on society, friends, and love.

Today, I feel sportive as the wind of some obligations of familial duty is absent, and a feeling of sweet breeze conveys to me to write and go on the shore that is cordial to my habits of endurance to feel free with life that is a glance of my mind to go through life’s part of existence and syllables. I think of my own, of my flights towards time zone that is not restricted now to me. It is a strange feeling. Here lies the difference between living in a familial life and living in a sectional freedom of familial life. Now I am a man of writing and reconciled wisdom, a grace of little liberation.

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