- saahil sanganeria
- Aug 31, 2022
- 1 min read
Chaos looks like a thousand colours splashed onto black- colorful but not quite. It looks like what you see when you close your eyes in front of a bright white light. It looks like TV cable static but it isn’t black and white. It has no shape, no structure. It is abstract but it does look like something. It looks like something that can only be felt.
Chaos sounds like the sound a radio makes when it isn’t tuned- monotonous but not quite. It sounds like the inconsistent dripping of rainwater on a tin roof. It sounds like violent violin music. It sounds like the consistent ringing of a school bell when you’re too close to it.
Chaos tastes metallic in your mouth- stings but not quite. It tastes like the blood that bled from your gums when you were eight. It tastes like milk gone bad. It tastes like how I imagine soap to taste.
Chaos feels like an ice-cold bucket-bath on a january morning- refreshing but not quite. It feels like your mouth is full of bland, coarse sand. It feels the way you feel when glitter sticks to your skin.
Chaos smells like lajpat nagar on a late summer afternoon- nostalgic but not quite. It smells like a thousand spices that cancel each other out but still manage to itch your nose. It smells like wet paint.
Chaos is nothing and Chaos is everything.
Chaos is home.
-Saahil Sanganeria