a chill,
an ice cold serpent slithers
on my back
and I lie still,
playing dead
these are the nights
running up and down chasing sleep
and when its within my grasp
a night crawls underneath my blankets
and devours it all
sleep becomes intermittent
coming in between long spells
of bitter wakefulness
thinking the same old thoughts
and when sleep is finallly roused in its slumber
the dreaded nightmares crawl for their feast
we were the kind the sought
refuge in the cold embrace of the night
we were the kind whom we thought
our souls were reinforced with concrete
but then we mellowed
and slipped into the graceful
cracks of life,
hiding in dark crevices
craving the sweet touch of solitude
in the wee hours of the morning
but alas!
nothing worked
nothing ever seemed to be
we are alone, aging horribly
waiting for trains that derailed
a long time ago
There are stories that don’t make sense
And because of that, they are great stories
Regaled over time, over centuries
And yet without the words
Because the story involves a woman and a man
All good stories – including even those that make sense
Always involve a woman and a man
Especially at the vulnerable moment – naked
Man and woman meet one time
The two do not have anything similar
Except because they are bipedal
And breath in oxygen
But then nature somehow makes them
Fall in love
‘We do not make sense,’ the woman swats him away.
The man does not go away
‘So does the universe,’ he responds
If he was a poet, he will rhyme
“That’s some up us,
We do not have make sense
Because the universe is made of so much nonsense,”
One time, even without any prompting
They realize that they have made a baby
They do not understand how it happened
Because nothing makes sense
It was an accident, they tell their parents
Well, they do not tell their parents
She tells her parents – all alone
Because that makes sense to her
But it does not make sense to her parents
And her boyfriend who has already fled to Chalbi desert
The little drizzle flowed into the well
The water gathered to commune
With thirsty men and women
Everybody knows it wouldn’t last
Even I knew it would not last
But I camped by the well
For days on end quenching thirst
Oblivious of the days I’d go thirsty
But then such kind of thoughts never gather
For in the little drizzle, I confused for abundance
I even became generous, dishing the little to strangers
Way before even my loved ones reached the well
I bragged that the well was my own bounty
For I have stayed longer beside this dry well
Waiting for the little drizzle
