Monday, November 15, 2010

From Journals Incognito

The fan makes creaking sounds with the nuts and bolts of the bed in unison,
He lies on one to gaze into the other undisputed
The slow hums from the next room are incoherent voices in television
A strange music is invented.

Trains and buses letting him in three towns in ten day.
Town to town into unknown locales, he sprawls.
Places that were names come with life and with each come a prosaic word play.
As if the hovel filled country is some heaven sent virgin. He has caressed them all
..You are a male chauvinist she said then.

Carving landscape into words to put to papers.
Eating cartographic details
He swallows unpalatable spices and flavors.

The music goes on, he smiles looking onto the rotating instrument ‘Mozartize’ itself.
He has acquired this new fetish for coining words,
Words whose meanings shall be held just by his self.
Like his life which he has cleaved onto, with every footstep that can come to him murdered.

And he smiles
He has won over time
He has lost over his past
He has written a new diary entry last night
A poem is undressed.
He is making love to the town.
He shall grab a bus tonight, for a new unnamed.

Only if she knew he was..