Wednesday, 11 January 2012

-| magic of words |-

People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. And this is the second death, where memories cease to exist. This is both dreadful and natural. 

Some say photographs and hence the memories stay forever. But I believe that written word or some handmade item, a piece of embroidery or a painting is more powerful.  

An author is an example who is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like a mosquito fozzilized , that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

Its exactly 6 months and 12 hours today. 

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