A NIGHTMARE I WAIT FOR
A point to start with.
An Order indissoluble.
Post Big bang.
Balcony prefers geometry. And Geometry Ideology.
Last Morning I took an unusual budge. I left my balcony alone. I was busy in defining Smog. Bourgeois…but…and…Untouchable. I failed.
Smog speaks Truth. Truth disillusions. Time slows to a crawl.
She took her napkin and started moving sideways. I forgot. She experienced. Linearity nullified.
She turned her back to door. Staircase was her future. She was playing reverse. I thought so.
As she would start, the order would be disappeared. To Begin. To End. Order. Disorder. Experienced. Cyclic… and…but…no Linear.
I experienced. But expected a return journey. From staircase to door. Shortcut. Perhaps through Worm hole. Again. Linear but Cyclic. Order to Disorder to Order. Again. Again. Again.
I started counting my pulse. Beyond numbers. Each pulse felt her moving towards staircase. Never to door again.
I spaced out my legs. Backed them to a wall. Tried to form angles. Triangle. I dreamt of running away from a circle.
An ultimate Order.
A DAWN, UNNAMED
When the sea will puzzle us no more
When the rock will castle us no more
When the glass with its brim-high and grey kisses
Will call for the day ---- undecided
As it was still there untouched, yet molested
What else is left to think about forestry?
That eve when we clapped together, led us to a
Night, we love and fought alone
And the dawn we yawned, again together, as
A dead beat
Took us along a road, worn out and exact; measured
To complete our ruin, planned, yet unnoticed.
Like amphibrach --- sleeping in-between---myth and masonry
Where rhythm starts and we collapse.
Evenhandedly we shared our candies and wounds
To lick up the runniness of night.
And when the darkness evaded
We took the same axe, together, to resume the ride, afresh.
As if she will never revert back to her own promise
As if she will never pick up those stones unturned
As if she will remain ever-absent in those yellow papers
………………………………Papers clamping her fluidity-in-essence.
It is the shadow of her desire, the desire to come back to the backyard
That I have engraved in the solitary tune of the twilight sky for these long years.
The den is bestial in its wildness, sometimes divine too when closed
Pieces of churned sorrow, planned inhibition floppy like unyielding lovers.
With the hope of her shrieks to be heard I have unarmed myself again
To kneel down to her whims to kill myself once more defenceless..