From: India
About me: About me? Well.. Recluse, dysphoric, morose, inane, insane, caffeine-addict, misread, ascetic, platitudinal, dreamer, volatile, scathing, auspicate, deviant, disparate, iridescent, chatoyant, irate, morbid, colors, canvas, creation, hue, saturation, redemption, vehement, profound, intense, abysm, aphoristic, bound? Creative, encumbered, blasphemous, extant, sentient, opiate? Absurd, moronic, loony, preposterous, harebrained? Plastic blue conversations, paradoxes, anomalies, threnodies, acousmas, delusions, illusions, soliloquies?
Tuesday, December 24, 2013,7:10 PM
Hiccough
The silence of the dead, pierced by crows.
A decade of passing,
A decade of water collecting in small pools in the grooves of whitewashed bricks
Since the dull thunk of the spade hitting flattened earth,
Under the looming shadows of trees enriched by lifeblood.
I am here again.
It's like I never left.
It's like I never was here.
It's like every passing moment is a subtraction, instead of an addition.
There is nothing meaningful to say.
How do you say, "How do you do," to a headstone?
What do you address as father?
I bought new clothes, I grew out my hair,
Look, I braided it today.
I have six cats.
And someone I love very much. Would you like to meet him again?
I am 25.
Do you remember him from that visit?
Mom is still valiently trying to sail in two boats.
Man-to-man conversation?
I never threw out your chair.
There are so many things to talk about.
The plants all wilted, but I am planning to grow them again.
It has been long.
It is time to leave.
The sky is darkening
And all the other unfriendly phantoms are gathering.
Mom says, you are not the only one here.
Are you alone?
Look, there are bats flying above the jamun trees.
Funny, I always thought I would be scared of dark graveyards with bats flying above them.
It seems almost normal now.
We have to be going now.
I have said my prayers,
It is the only time I do.
The silence of the dead, pierced by crows.
A decade of passing,
A decade of water collecting in small pools in the grooves of whitewashed bricks
Since the dull thunk of the spade hitting flattened earth,
Under the looming shadows of trees enriched by lifeblood.
I am here again.
It's like I never left.
It's like I never was here.
It's like every passing moment is a subtraction, instead of an addition.
There is nothing meaningful to say.
How do you say, "How do you do," to a headstone?
What do you address as father?
I bought new clothes, I grew out my hair,
Look, I braided it today.
I have six cats.
And someone I love very much. Would you like to meet him again?
I am 25.
Do you remember him from that visit?
Mom is still valiently trying to sail in two boats.
Man-to-man conversation?
I never threw out your chair.
There are so many things to talk about.
The plants all wilted, but I am planning to grow them again.
There is nothing to say.
Somehow, stripping roses to strew their petals above you seems barbaric
This merciless shedding of love, you would not have approved.
The candles all keep falling
The wind keeps putting the flames out
There are five different kinds of incense, which one would you like?
You know, there is a bush growing above you.
You would like that, wouldn't you?
I wish I could be a tree, roots reaching out to your feet.
And then the bush, and you, and I could be together till someone cut us down.
So many dead people.
What if I had X-ray vision, and suddenly looked down to see rows upon rows of bleached white?
A graveyard must be an archaeologist's nightmare.
Or playground. Depending on his outlook.
There are mausoleums here, and humble tombs.
We only bricked yours.
Is it nice, being out here in the open,
Where you can feel the wind and absorb the rain?
What do you look like now?
Will you place your hand in mine?
Run your fingers through my hair?
It is long...
Somehow, stripping roses to strew their petals above you seems barbaric
This merciless shedding of love, you would not have approved.
The candles all keep falling
The wind keeps putting the flames out
There are five different kinds of incense, which one would you like?
You know, there is a bush growing above you.
You would like that, wouldn't you?
I wish I could be a tree, roots reaching out to your feet.
And then the bush, and you, and I could be together till someone cut us down.
So many dead people.
What if I had X-ray vision, and suddenly looked down to see rows upon rows of bleached white?
A graveyard must be an archaeologist's nightmare.
Or playground. Depending on his outlook.
There are mausoleums here, and humble tombs.
We only bricked yours.
Is it nice, being out here in the open,
Where you can feel the wind and absorb the rain?
What do you look like now?
Will you place your hand in mine?
Run your fingers through my hair?
It is long...
It has been long.
It is time to leave.
The sky is darkening
And all the other unfriendly phantoms are gathering.
Mom says, you are not the only one here.
Are you alone?
Look, there are bats flying above the jamun trees.
Funny, I always thought I would be scared of dark graveyards with bats flying above them.
It seems almost normal now.
We have to be going now.
I have said my prayers,
It is the only time I do.
I am sorry.
Did you say anything?
Don't let the roses wilt too soon, okay?
I am taking a few tufts from here.
But, Mom will make me throw them before we reach the gate.
What belongs here, stays here, she says.
But you will come with me,
Won't you?
Did you say anything?
Don't let the roses wilt too soon, okay?
I am taking a few tufts from here.
But, Mom will make me throw them before we reach the gate.
What belongs here, stays here, she says.
But you will come with me,
Won't you?
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