He is endless, says my father, looking inside his glass. Inside the wine glass is a forest. Inside the forest are many vineyards and monkeys. Inside the monkeys, a lake of melancholy. Inside the lake of melancholy, many women are bathing. Inside the women are many disappointing male lovers. Inside the lovers, a language of hate. Inside that language, an algorithm for addiction. Inside the algorithm resides my father. Inside my father, a cage. Inside that cage, my father, trapped. Inside the father inside the cage, another cage. I did not mean to talk about him through a necklace of onions. But he likes onions. Isn’t it fascinating, he exclaims, the way they seem endless up until they end and nothing remains.


ENDLESSNESS by Karan Kapoor



Photo used under CC.