Image credit: Kushal Poddar
The star opens a door in the sky
and leaves. The door dissolves.
The last train whistles a ditty
the lical assassin sings before his acts,
a song he learnt from his mother.
The green on the platform seven, not
a sudden fig sapling, a mere spot of some
spilled paint, waits for the rain we feel
whenever some door in the firmament
opens. The dry spell continues tonight.
Tonight I sleep on a concrete bench and
ask the platform to keep us afloat, anchored.
'Stay Strong' Flowers
The 'stay strong' flowers burst into some white stars
on the morning after the mourners disappear,
leave a black room and semi-dense shadows
of food for the family. For the family they leave
this bouquet on the table it will share with
one framed photograph of the deceased man,
although a vile one, blank and clean in this day's
memories, tolerance. The white browns in the afternoon.
By the morning they die. Their death on the same
plain with a frame of life of one no longer alive
reminds the family of the garden, withering,
and of the knives. They cannot tell you why,
they cannot fathom the connection.
The Second Swim
Through the bubbles of fog and smoke
a brief man driving a wheel chair appears
and asks us to follow him; so we do, one foot
on the patience and the other on the break.
He shouts "Look at the lake. Here my sister drowned."
He startles us pointing at the shadowy figure
yonder, "Say hello to my sister. She will show you the rest."
Yes, not everything that drowns decay
and vanish. Some returns for a second swim
in this existence. "Let's camp." I say.
You stare at the lake that wears the night
and yet, from our kind, cannot hide itself.
The Importance of Arts, Culture & The Creative Process
We doubt and hence we think and we think hence we exist. The arts, culture & the creative process represents the very core of the existence. It may stir questions in others so they may face their existential crisis. This poem was inspired by silent observation of humanity and own reflection.
