Fourteen Hours in London

Here I’m.

A year away from those fourteen hours spent amid that fervent city – shored along The Thames. Every-time and every other time; whenever, I gathered words to fill those lost time – they simply waned to a nowhere.

Perhaps, this is how words fail.

Perhaps, this is how a beauty strives.

June 1st. 2013

Last few hours before my ticket back home. There I was with my iced-coffee, all baffled and lost lurking those majestic towers lying amid that gentle; yet majestic river.

The moment, that wasn’t destined for mere words.

The moment, that I always wanted to write.

Breathing in the cold morning breeze of the midlands, I left for the ride.

It was a beautiful midsummer morning, lodged with a mild winter cold that pleasantly hustled around. A cold that gently puts a sense of warmth – a cold that always reminds me of a home.

The station clock chimed at seven, when I finally found myself settled in. To my surprise, the compartment was quite empty; except for those couple of formally dressed who were deluged in their daily, here and there. However, in-spite of the warmth found within the compartment; a sense of instinctive bleak crept around – and lodged all along the journey.

The train slowly shunted away from the platforms of the New-Street, and speeded off over the iron rails ahead – breaking through the just born lights of that fine morning.

Moments passed.

The mousy compartment broke in with chatters of voices – filling the desolate silence of the compartment; once and for all. If it were any other day; I would have been already lost tuned in with some Billy Joel and a hot mug of the local brew. With already missing my morning cup of the brew – it wasn’t quite any other day; after-all.

In-spite of, exactly, knowing when would the ride be racing the tracks of The Euston – I kept checking my wrist-watch every five minutes and every other five, with a sense of boredom growing every other second.

Among all those hustling; to my surprise, I found myself suddenly engulfed by the fast moving western civilisation – leaning over a windowed sense. The midland summer slowly shattered into a winter fog; leaving brittles of cold wrapping the glass outside the window.

Moments passed.

The winter slowly purged away, and the cold bristled windows slowly gave into a view of distant heaths and shires – filled with a morning lit cloudy skyline. Without a nudge; everything ravelled into an indefinite slow – for a moment. The indefinite moment that could have stood; deluged – deluged for its very beginning. Minutes later, along with the leaving cold; those distant farms and those nearby smiles dwindled into the shades of a mirage – casting off a deep puerile sense of a solitude; to be remembered.

Five minutes to ten.

The ride arrived at The Euston; opening into a busy London morning – within that busy rustlings of that Euston morning; there dwelled a melodious silence to be never noticed. Lost in the very silence, I stood there waiting for the ride to The King’s Cross station to arrive – with no clue; that those few minutes of stay would never sail off my thoughts.The few minutes wait had had already grown longer and longer with every minute that faded away – leaving a void.

Those fast seconds grew into slow minutes.

Suddenly; a minute froze.

Like an uncalled voice from a distance; the clatters of the rails swept through the platform – breaking every calm that lingered around; with a swift of hushing cold breeze. The moment meant to fade; froze. Stood. Stood for an ever.

Ten past thirty.

The city had quite already deluged me inside a chaos – a sweet and a beauty held chaos. This odd sense of chaos; left my shoes, empty without those ever wanted sense of an excitement – a sense that failed to strive from the very first sight. The day gently strolled into the city of The Thames; streets after street, chimes of a distant clock, red buses and bluish skies.

Moments passed.

The beauty held morning gently broke into a calm and a tranquil afternoon on the streets around The Trafalgar; lurching into a beauty – an unheard serene beauty.

The clock swept to those last few hours of the fourteen – with a farewell to that fervent morning.

The strolling journey around those desolate weekend streets; finally fenced into a crowded shore portrait with those majestic towers upon The Thames. The solitude void gathered from those streets; at once, filled in with the clamours of smiles and peace – leaving a memory.

The last few hours.

The once stood blue of the sky deluged into a phantom of grey clouds – cradling the lone evening stars.The clamours crowd and the distant rustling slowly faded into a unison – with every last hour. The warmth shelved by the hot brew gently shifted away with the evening cold.

Loosing myself within that baffling moment; I stayed – held captive by the very moment, before me.

I stayed.

The very moment that quenched more than a frigid photograph – the very moment that quenched more than the moment itself.

The moment, that wasn’t destined for mere words.

The moment, that I always wanted to write.


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