Monologue of Bell Hook's daughter (Sub-altern Fiction)

It was a windy June Sunday. For Bell would have named the day a wuthering day but she has seen worse living in Brighton. Hence, not just yet. When Emily Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights , Bell believed that Emily Bronte or erstwhile Currer Bell was most certainly trying to draw parallels between the internal and external torrents; there is something tragic to reflect and soothing to feel when there is an external calamity in form of thunderstorm or lightning etc., that ostensibly emulates one's internal clamour. Although far from home, yet Bell holds home nearly but it may not be possible to always hold it dearly. Though things are settling down inside Bell now, this phase is always past the phase of great upheaval and torment. Women are said to be prone to hysteria; Bell's father always defined her behaviour as hysterical too. While, she understood over time, men find it impossible to justify women's behaviour, she could never bring herself to question her behaviour; there w...
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Here!


I live on sixth floor

And the road to my residence is flanked with high priced buildings, it has these shops for prodigals
Under me, as I metaphorize, are these ever rushing cars,
Honking the horns
Your eyes would often be enticed by the flashy cars here,
Maybe a BMW or an Audi, I doubt about a Lamborghini though
There is a church with a big round window on its frontal, facing a pavement and the church is painted in red
Also, the tallest building of the city stands nearby me
And you can see it from my huge window
I have many such peepholes in my place which keep emancipating me
I, every day, visit a wood
If you can enter it, ever, you would find a huge ground
The ground where for the first time I had ever laid on the naked grass covered with dew
With my back resting flat
And my face facing the sky at night
I have spent my nights for the longest outside with no shelter on my head there
In fact, the first rain dance ever was the one I had there, stiffened though
However, this forest has eerie beasts and my spirit drifts frutively to and fro
This preserved wood is set on fire every evening
But there are no ashes in the morning
From the woods to shelter and shelter to woods
What I do there, is for you to seek.
At times I feel this urge to open to strangers
So you might find me with people just once and for all, free like never before
And never again
This is my life these days
But I write this to you
So, 
When I want to be found,
I tried finding me
Can you trace me to this big city?
(I know you too.)


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Monologue of Bell Hook's daughter (Sub-altern Fiction)

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