By Gargi Chatterjee
Out of the sun, into the shadow;
Time quavers in its blazing flame,
Folding withering hands to adieu
Burnt out cigarette ends,
Uninterrupted electronic sound,
Micro-mini-skirts and dark suits –
That the pathless city callously claims.
Evenly the elusive entity is fraught with,
Heavy moaning, rhythm of pulsing,
Squirming bodies in a
Punching serenity of silence.
Midnight is approaching, accompanying
No gleam,air along with law,
Yet abides beaming wintery chill,
Causing perspiring window panes,
Obstructing perennial claw,
Owing to naked crimson teeth,
However it feigns.
I, an old soul;
A dreary head in a vivid world,
Bitten by words,whispers and maze,
Ceaselessly counting blank brazen papers,
In this shadowy nuisance;
To end, to calm, to hush
The muffled, frazzled pace.
Thousands small deliberations grow from within,
An abysmal chasm takes place…
Do I dare? Do I seek?
Is it me who is insane?
Or is it me who begets eternal peace?
Slowly but steadily
Pregnant silence reigns;
With a smoky candle,
Beside a bottle of cocaine.
Then it starts pounding in my veins.
Neither quiet,nor transparent,
Nor is it neutral.
But undoubtedly tries to intervene.
It tries to give a concrete form of
A silhouette – that I know,
He often frequents in ripples
Bearing warm hands and immortal glow.
I reach there in a whirl to last.
I see him there…
But he is past.