Sunday, March 24, 2013

Page Break

Call it a page break, where I stand now, 
a place of sheer whiteness and void
the end completed itself moments ago 
and the beginning is just some wishful thinking 
like rains over the feeble body of Atacama.

Here I stand atop emptiness 
where the country of my thoughts is invaded by so many words 
that they cease to make sense any more, 
they are dry, convoluted, frayed and moth eaten 
these words, have no meanings
and between endless cups of black coffee I wish for them to go away 
as my hands write nothing for now

And so I go back to the page break 
where the cohorts of words are 
longing for a pattern, for home with proper alleyways and roofs
to ask them to leave and bolt the doors behind 

But to tell you the truth,
I always wish for them to have a dwelling 
but my innate naivety with words, my illiteracy of self, 
and the thoughtlessness of a page break that there is
handicaps me, now. 

(within this space am alone like a full-stop
like a drop that if spreads would evaporate
like a home of no windows and nothing alive inside)

Let it be known then, 
my beginnings await your fingerprints 
and my words which desire a life
want your form to support themselves
to be written in perfect measures
like sugar to my coffee and some soul to me
while, I stand here at the train station of footnotes

So, for the finality of hope that invites some beginnings 
and my shapeless, orphaned words that crave for you as their life-force 
words that are crying for a home 
I plead to you with a mother's vulnerability
would you happen to me, 
beyond my mediocrity and within my sanity
just like 

National Highway 34:

This one is for you 
of the slight sun burnt dusky skin 
from an above average hot summer in bardhman

That surprisingly wrinkled jeans epitomizing 1992 for me
the hand writing that was neither too large nor small, just about perfect, 
like the keema porota's you made.

And the way you would shed a tear 
when chotu kakima's pet timpy died
when there was no radhabollobhi left to eat
when I would not look at you while reading some tagore lines

This one is for the mistakes
for the stolen kisses on the four floored aushim kaka house
the three day wedding that would happen at your ekdalia street home
the two failed attempts that we made at eloping
the honeymoon where we would visit the byzantine relics
such things that never happened

For our shared Neruda's 
and BeeGees
and St. Paul cathedral prayers
and jhal moori's
and sexual fantasies. 

This one is for how you said,
shono, why do you wear such big glasses, 
it obstructs your eyes
why do you leave the crossword half filled every time
why would you not have any biscuits with your evening tea
why would you never look at my slender figure
talk about Tanima Roy from Presidency
work with my dad
work for my dad
take a nap on Saturday noons
wear the red woolen Monte-Carlo
walk straight, eat prawns 
and cry every time you see meghe dhaka tara.

That you might have been in love
but baby, for me, it was just an Infatuation