By-Riddhima Sadhu
Thirty three years Alexander lived
Shakespeare wrote his tragedies
That teacher near our house
in dhoti turned twice
still dirty with yesterday’s mud
goes for another regret
what am I doing?
The play was staged
clowns and faces with paint
their age twenty
The man next door
his face well known
for the cycle he drew across the world
where am I here?
The lunatic
in house arrest wants to breathe
showing the foolish thumb
to people on lanes
but what am I doing?
What am I doing? Doing what? Doing what?
Till half past three into the night
the question haunts my ribs
An inadequate path, oozing with men flood
but all headless clouds
Am I one in them?
All my life I have been placing this head
The worn out head of mine
In one body in another
Trying to look into the mirror
On which body does this head of mine
look like me
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn