G o o d morning!!
Un-dead this morning
too
So …..!
Still living
No ……!
There’s No door
Here
Lost
Reminisce which side
did
you
sleep
Did you sleep
Where
Did You sleep
You
Lost
Forgetful
Prisoner
Forget about directions
Forget whats forgotten and get up
Else you will misss
Breakfast
Hey ! Hello !
Fast…!
Getup.!
Say ! Hello !
Say H E L L O to the new
GOOD MORNING
Else
you
will
be
Forgotten
Missed & left ravenous
Which
Is not good
Be good
Do not be forgotten
Do not be missed
Do not be left
Be By
Far good
Be amongst those
Who
Are Good
In
Getting
In
The que
Like the extra o in good
Prove yourself
Though
Proofs
Here
Provide no freedom
But Breakfast
To the fast
M
O
V
I
G que
For here are only two
Ques of hungry prisoners
And the one
M o v e s quickly
Doesn’t include you
Neither
In slower
Are you today
For you are not getting
Up/in
Get up and get in
Get in and see
That there never will be
Even a triffel of difference
Between
The served & The server
Givers or takers
Like there is
No difference
Between
And and Or Or or And
Be in between
And
Get served breakfast
Get served
And
Provide services for the breakfast
And
When you are done
Run
For now there is only one
Que
To take you
Back
To your cage where you
Are
To S E R V E
Incarcerated
Services
Are
To be
Provided
By you
For you
Are to be provided
B R E A K F A S T
And
A place to sleep and forget
That you slumber
In your cage with a number
Of
Other cages for ages
And ages
And for ages
Your cage is aging too
And before you even realise
It grows bigger with your size
In your marrow and your meat
With what ever you may eat
There
Are
Other cages too
Let it be
For cages
Even you can see
Are no different than each other
You can see
But not your own
U N K N O W N P R I S O N er
To err is
Human
And ‘Tis a herculean task for a poet
To walk in ques
Ants
Do walk in ques
Industrious Ants
On the command of
Moreindustrious Ants
Who can not be commanded
But by the one who knows
All the poets, ants and all
In
The easts & the wests
In
THE que
THE poets found it hard
To walk
& slept
Left asleep in command
S o m e were just
Forgotten
S o were r e a d
R e s t assured to define
S o defined the rest
& slept to forget t h e m s e l v e s
After forgetting t h e f o r g o t t e n
All the poets, ants
And all the wests and easts
Are
In one EYE
Morphing I
I who know not
What I will
My will
Is not me
For I am not
In accordance to my will
Read by a reader
Who is not me
No, not you either
W E
Are not to read
Neither to be read
Poetry
Is
To
Read
Or
TO
Be
Read
Then to be lost
Like my sense of directions
Right before I sleep
Just after I wake
Its hard to recount
Which way
The door is
And easy to assume
With ease I assume
All my beliefs
For the sake of this ease
I believe in serving
So shall I serve
Untill they learn
All
About
My
Services
Not all learnings
Require
Teachings
Birds never tought us to fly
Or die
We assumed we can
And we flew
Some like colors
Some like dust
Those who flew
Like dust lived
Those like colors
Lived more
I can not teach you to live more
For you
Are already alive
In-assumed-fact
More alive
Than eye
That can not keep
Anything
Neither
Anything can be kept from the eye
In words read
Words revel : what is kept by me
Often from me
In me
You will to know
Where it is kept
And you come
To know
That all can never be known
But some
Reveled
By some
With open eyes or closed
Among
Those who are sleeping
Or Those who are walking
Or Those who are sleeping while walking or
Walking while sleeping
As desired
W H I L E
You
Are not being addressed
You are
Not to be
Addressed
No one is addressed
Neither
In the guise of monologue
The desire is
Not to be
One who adress desires
Nothing
Had to be
De s I r e d
You are never
To be
Addressed
Against your will
Will is yours
You
Who aren’t here by will
Cares not
How careless of you to forget :
Whens?
Wheres?
Hows?
Whos?
And find :
Whats?
Whens?
Wheres?
Who knows?
You choosy/ searcher you
Who don’t want to search anything
NOW
You take INFO?
Or is it
You informer you
Get up
You uninformed informer You
Face new info
And decide
Whether you are
Being informed
Or you are the informer
Although in both cases
It is compulsory to trust/ believe the information
Assume that you’ve believed
And
Prove :
Your belief
Can not surpass
Your limit
Of assumption.
If you are informed by yourself that your assumption
Has a limit
Dare cross it !
Afraid of crossing it?
Afraid of the fear
You
Fearful
You
May determine limits by
Poetry
Reality
That your cigarette has bound you with the reality on
The other side of cigarette
Keeps you
Uninformed
Of the fear
By the fear
Face that fear
Keep doing it
Until you find
Something Worth doing
Don’t decide WORTH
Do not define WORTH
Let the decision happen gingerly
Dare denial
Than deny
Leftovers of Reality
Indecisive like your childhood child
Who fearfuly let the decision decide
And push the childhood
Into youth
The joy of this first
And last
Decisive Decision
Is
What
You
Search
In every touch you toch
Yourself
Embrace yourself
Enjoy yourelf
Aim at the goal
Of this first decision
In every hole
anD geT losT
Lost
To the point
Where the point is lost
Feel yourself
In that lost point after losing
Sense of senses
Slabber while seeing mirror
Dissolve in fragrance
Evolve
Evolving is surviving
Stability
If only is in variance
What is varaince
What is the point in varying
I’m variance
And I’m stable
Before me ,
I was only me
After me,
I evicted you from me
To we
In us
In us there is
Neither me nor you
This mutual disappearance
Is named we
By someone who’s not us
We
Short of
You and Me
And why wouldn’t be short
When never
Are you
E N O U G H
E N O U G H
AM I
Or like the leftover
Of the breakfast
Served after
The night of starvation
Left over me
Left over you
Lost in
O U R SOLITUDE
To survive devovering we
And not to die
Survival from the sorrow of our death is unthinkable
Impossible
All that is unthinkable is impossible
Or even if it possible
Its not good to die
Be good and sleep
Sleep and die
In you bed & take birth in your
Dream
To the door
Que by que
From the door to the bed
To the dream
To THE WAKE
Oughtn’nt you be awake
To create poetry
To shave
You ought not shave
Those who ought to do
Do and are good at
BOTH
Shaving anybody
Else is art
Those who shave anybody & themselves
Sing, and dance, and tell stories
Every story has a
SHE
Who reads it
Beside
Her W I N D O W
Thinks
It is ONE and not TWO
Reads
Listens
The voice
Continuously ringing in ears
Which can not
Be
Negated
On yellow page
In front of
Her E Y E
A toyman
With a basket of toys
Over
His H E A D
Between the lines
Passes
Surpassing limits
His basket
Contains incomplete toys
His gait shows
Completeness
Perhaps
Toys are
Of the same view
Can it not be
Understood
WHY
In
Incompleteness of write ups
Beside windows
Toymen are seen
Write ups of assumed names
Read often, all the same
Incomplete
Starts from mid
Ends in mid
Something tells
Its not Two
Beneath Window
Pondering
Over the basket
And the echo
In head
Frozen
She Decides
To reach toyman
Through the path of echo
And is seen
Outside the window
Following
Away
Going toyman
And when nothing was left
In between
Ice broke :
“Twelve have passed before me”,
Said he, “I am the thirteenth”
“WE convey thirteen stories
To each one of you
And this is what we do
Twelve are
Incomplete
Thirteenth
Is complete
But not always
Nothing is always
Always is
Nothing
From childhood
To old age ,
WE come often
In eve of childhood spring
In spring evening
When you are sure to catch
Butterfly you chase
Or in winter night
When you are certain
No one’s seeing you
Inside
Blanket
Or in Autumn’s morning
When flowers are foud on pathways
Without effort
In Autumn’s nights
You are yourself on these paths
No one finds you
But you are found
Till night
You got to know that
You can be seen
Inside blanket as well
Your evenings become long
Or short
But you forget noons
Noons return in old age’s Summer
And sits on doorstep
Till evening
Till then
You fold your blanket
Then comes
Thirteenth weather
And WE
Complete the story
And a story is always complete
The one that is incomplete is not a story
Uptil now
All written and read
Heard and said
Was a story
What you are reading
Is your story
And your story is what you read
What I read
Can not be your story
For if one starts
Reading the author
Listening the singer
Touching the dancing girls
Watching the painter
Who watches back
From the blue
Eyes
Of the girl
On the broken deck
Of the shipwreck
In the ocean
On the painting
Hung
On the wall of the art gallery
Where the picture
Of
Shipwreck was placed
For exhibition
I serve
The art gallery
Yet
About paintings
I have as much knowledge
As a common man has
About bull fighting
Inspite of this
I acknowledge myself
As a fan of the artist
Who painted the picture
At times,
I want to pluck the blue
From the eyes
Of the girl
Out from the canvas
And through myself
In the blue
Such thoughts
Are not appropriate
For an ordinary servant
But are good
For those spectators
Who
Regardless of the blue
Are busy in discussing
The painting
In the beginning
While serving
Tea to them
I used to smile in a way
Reflecting
As if I have seen
The same in picture
That they have seen
But now
While picking empty tea cups
I try
Not to look at the man
Standing
In front of the picture
Posing
To see something in the painting
Nor I try to listen
To the painter
And continue my work
“How about the doctors
What is
Their opinion
About him?
One
Character
From the story
Asked
Another
In his most grey voice
This
Very shade of grey
Was used first
When he was telling the girl
About the birds
Who saw
The pigeon in his hat
“They suggested
To keep him engaged ,
Else
His mental health could go worst
And the only engagement he has
Is the art gallery” replied
The blue eyed girl
In a voice
That was not
As blue
That was the only answering shade
She had
For those colorful inquiries
About her husband
Over all those (not so colorful)
Years
But not all inquiring colors
Are
Invited
In the room
Where she kept birds
Only the man
Under the hat
Made his way
Here
With his grey voice
A whimsical
Charlatan
He was
A Magician
Who from his childhood knew
The bird
Is always in the hat
Thus
He had no childhood
And he was done
With his youth too
Like his step father
He wishes to die
Before he gets old
But he lived
I
From
The gallery
Get back home
Daily
To make ship
With a newspaper
To take it in the ocean
To the shipwreck
For the girl
But I know not
How to paint
If I knew how to
I wouldn’t have painted
Blue
Like the ever blue voice
Of my beloved wife
In the room
Where she kept birds
At first sight
She made me feeel
The creator
Must have
Made her
Out of sunshine
Taken centuries
To carve those features
Till then
Uptil now
Life would have been eager
To meet her
Seeing her
I lost my remaining
Four senses
As well
Her ordour made me feel
As if
The door to heavens
Is opened to me
Touching her
Was gently placing fingers
On velvet
Floating over water
And when she spoke
I forgot both
Music & Poetry
Sound didn’t add nectar in ears
But wine
Each word from her lips
Had a unique flavor
I felt
Mythologically pleasant
As if
Aphrodite came in front of me
From Greek dev maala
But it became evident
Shortly that this story
Was not originated in Greek
From Greece.
The Aphrodite I saw
Was a Dalelia
Who killed mighty Sampson
In the holy book
In the holy book
It wasn’t written
That dalelia.
Had any blue in her
Unfortunately
I don’t remember
The exact
Name of my wife
For me
Its an ordinary thing
Yet not that unimportant
As I used to think
When in beginning
I forgot where
I put what
I do not remember
When it came
From things to faces
Now I forget
How to link
Names and faces
This doesn’t imply
I need to be treated
For
I
Can
Give the faces
Names
Of my choice
I’ve named the artist
Who has painted the girl in the window of a
Shipwreck
Moses
And that deceiting magician
Oedepsis
Whose Queen
Had eyes blue
“I doubt he knows”
Said she
Taking her hair back
From his hand
The birds Protested
“He only knows
What he should know
Like the silver bird
That you picked
From the pavement
Neither it has the need
Nor the ability
To know more
And its
Tantamount to natural
Principles
So you
Do not take it
To your heart
Take it as you take
P O E M
T
H
E birds
Protested
Again
As if they know
Poetry
I
Know
Sampson
Was killed
In the holy book
By Delilah
Knowing she
Is ally with
His murderers
Tempted, deluded she
Those who are tempted
Are not culprits
Tonight the new painting
Was
Tempting
Its viewers
And those
Who were tempted
Were as innocent
In the painting,
The women,
In process of becoming
Women
In glass bottles
Were in a farseeing desert
Far there
A caravan
Throwing such more bottles
Was heading towards sun
And then each eye
Saw
The women;
(still in process)
Were nude
No matters she has some blue
So who
Is
At fault?
I cannot held people
Having blue as culprits
Not everyone thinks like this
That
If from birds’ room
The sound of their flapping went to someone
Else room other than me,
He
Would have cut
Chop
Pluk…..
But I’m not someone else
G O O D L U C K
Not
Being
Someone else
&
Be the one they call me
Made
The
POSSIBILITY that
I was not called this
In the past
PROBABLY
People took advantage
Of THE me who forget
N A M E s
They murdered
A me
Without killing any me
So called
Me differently
So I too
Became
Someone else
As Aphrodite became Daleli
“ Leave the silver bird
Picked
From the pavement
Who
Had no need nor the ability
To know
Instead
Look at the water falls
Or the water
That falls
And always falls
Never once
It goes upwards
Smoke on the contrary
Never falls
Downwards
Westwards
Goes the sun
And deathwards goes life
Thus
It is best
To pave the way
For all weary travellers
Who know
Not”
He spoke
As he put on his shirt
As one who knows
“ What if he learns”
She asked…..the silver bird
Who looked at him
As if waiting
For his reply
And he replied
“No one learnt till now
And this is what I have learnt
In my childhood
From my late
Father
That no one
Should know
So he knew not
Who paved his path
While he was fishing
Tell him
To go fishing”
I
From fishing
Get back home
Alone
We were three when we were
Leaving
Home
On the way
I decided
To keep paintings
In the birds room
NOW
The painting
Which doesn’t have any
Girl in the window of a ship
NOW
Windows without girls
Are like
Planets without life
She
Was looking
D
O
W
N
From the planet
To a
D E A T H B E D
Near the ocean
She
Could look
At the ocean
From the window
But to her
Looking at
The life moving
Death ward
Was better
So she peeps
Out from the window
Down from the seventh seeing
The woman
Putting extra wood
In the fire
Murmuring :
“mother is already on death
Bed, what if she dies?… In
It is the ease”.
From seventh floor
She heard murmurs
&
Guessed about her desire
She could
See the sea
On the other side
But felt
T’is better
To see
Life cluttering around
The un-dead body
On
The death bed each morning…
Tantamount to seeing the mirror …was better than
Seeing the mirror while looking at the sea from the
Window.
There were
Many desires
To be guessed
Around the bed
Desires knew not
That they were being guessed from a seventh
Floor
Else
They would have told
They are necessities
And not desires
From
Such
A h
E
I
G
H
T, it could only
Be
Guessed
That the man
Catch fish
( and that he could not catch them in a great number
)
While guessing this,
It was time to go to school
And she goes
Downstairs.
Here it can be guessed
That about world
She didn’t know much
Y
E
T
No one knows much about worlD
We
Don’t know much
Since when it is
Till when it will be…
But it is …
Like that bed
About which she was only told that man
On some charges
Was ousted
From some colony
And he got settled
Around
The
Bed
She often thought :
If he stopped selling fish , he’d be
In ease.
That much fish that was needed for food came itself
In the hook.
But treatment of mother’s illness was not in the fish’s
Stomach
So the fish
Had to be sold
Woman, considering mother as her enemy,
Turned her enemy.
And man was afraid of taking a step for the second
Time
So he used to fight with both of them.
On returning from the school,
She saw that day woman was also on the death bed
And she looked more ill
Than mother
She guessed again
People are right.
The one who was allegedly desirous of someone’s
Death till morning was herself on deathbed in the
Evening.
She was in the same condition the next morning as
Well.
Next six days and seven nights were spent in the
Same condition.
On seventh day
A hammock was seen
On the lower side
Of
The bed
The half undead
Body
On
The bed
Looked more lively
Man had been catching fish
And
Woman’s alleged desires
Had increased
The rattling
Of r
A
I
N on window
Could not suppress the sound
Of crying
Child
The light flashing
On the other side
Of the glass made it feel
That something
Of a great note
Is to be done
And
Millions of cameras are
Capturing
The scene in
She thought
Perhaps
The dwellers came around the bed
In one of such flashes
The child was constantly crying
The woman was awake
All of a sudden,
The rain stopped
Suddenly
Instantly
The child stopped
Crying
And it was dawn
Three days hence this incidence
As she was watching
From the seventh floor
She saw
The woman
Was still adding
Extra woods into the fire
The half alive body on the bed became more cold
And there was no hammock
While going
Downstairs
She thought
If it was necessary
For an infant
To take birth
Or for a person on death bed
To die
Would that there be a sea wave
And takes everything along with it
In it is the ease
With the thought
Of that ease
Someone turned face
From the sea
The one
Who turned face
Knew
The sea would spare
The man that day too
But
Didn’t
Know
How many fish
Would have been caught
In his hook
That day
Thinking about the fish
As she entered
She cried loudly
The blanket she left
While leaving
The bed had a weak body
In it
As if it had been part
Of the bed
“ How did you come here? “
Whether the question was not heard or the
Answer was not understood,
The question was repeated
Till
Answer didn’t come
“ O mother! How did you come
Here? “
“Like you came”
And will go as you
Will
Without
Listening to the answer,
She saw there was no life
In the rest of the body
Of the old lady
But her hair
Were golden and thick
Her hair
Had been knitted
With
The bed’s leg in a way
That it looked,
The bed
Had been woven from
The old lady’s
Hair
She
Thoroughly observed
That strange situation and
Shrieked
“ Why would I leave?
This place belongs to me”
“ Yes you are also right
It is yours
But THE going is also decided “
Yet THE choice is yours
Leave thinking
About the
PLACE or LEAVING
I’m knitted with this bed
You consider you haven’t seen me
Previously
Don’t worry
I’ll give you your share of the fish “
She
Catishly came
From
Beneath
The bed
And started stroking it
“You in
Your senses old lady?
You in
My cottage.. On my bed …
From my husband’s fish…
Will give ME share?
Wait I’ll give you your share
I’ll pull you like the bone from
The fish”
“ For this you have to be cruel”
Said the old lady, “..which you are not”
“to bear me, you have to be patient, you are not
Either it”
“ Let him…it is me who pitty on you but he won’t
He will screw you out of here on my wish “
On his return,
His helplessness was disclosed
At dawn,
Their presence made it clear
That the share
Of three would remain the same
Regardless of the giver
Man,
After discovering
The worthlessness of this debate
Went fishing
The old lady
Told him her medicine
And woman
While adding extra woods into the
Fire ,thought that by one way or
The other, a flame should go to
The bed from the door
To save her share
She kept thinking
She kept laying
On the bed
Until the eye
On the hole
Of the door
Got to know that she
Is sleeping
And then was seen on the other side of the hole
Here she was only seen
In dark
But it was not always
Like this
It was only two years ago
When
Life was running in her veins
Faster
Than pre determined limit
Of her age
And the resultant crash
Made her paralyzed
Every night
She on the wheel chair
Of her body
Dragged her crippled soul
To the place
Of the crash
And while returning,
Used to leave a part
Of wheel chair there
She kept laying on the bed
Until
The eye in the hole
On the other side of the door
Got to know
That she’s sleeping
Only then was she seen
On the other side of the hole
Here she was
Only seen in dark
But
It was not always like this
It was only two years ago
When life was flowing in her veins
Faster than pre determined limit
Of her age
And the resultant c
R
A
S
H made her
Paralyzed
Each night
She on the wheel chair
O
F
Her body
Dragged her cripple soul
To the place of the crash
Returning
Only after
LEAVING
A
Part of wheel chair
There
She didn’t dare to breach
T
H
E
P
R
O
M
I
S
E
“can you promise?
Each time
You’ll meet me you’ll
Leave
A part of you
Of my choice “
She
Could
Not
Belief her ears now
But neither he his
“ I Speak
With a voice
That suppresses mine
I Scream
But the louder I scream
The louder
Becomes the
Suppresser
This melancholy
I do not wish
It is ethical kill
In defense
Destruction is my only defense
It is not suicide.
Will kill my murder”
“ W H A T
Do you
Wish to prove
Entangling me
In words”
Afterwards There was silence
Inside the room
Curtains searched the wind
And let it in
Tea on the table
Had become cold
Like the words
Of the girl
Compelling the man
Placed
In front of her
More deaf
Than the painting on his back
At times,
It
Makes me think
It
Wasn’t created by God
But by Salvador Dali
And no that doesnot make Dali
God
Neither
He being oppressive with his paintings makes him
God
If colours had the permission
To talk like I do
They would have been abusing
Dali.
And this makes
The three of them
Oppressed
In my eyes:
Him
Dali who
Didn’t create
Him and
God
Who created Dali.
I
Don’t
Feel
Sorry
For
The
Oppressed
Rather
I feel angry.”
“I want to make sense
Out of your words
I’m ready to come to you crossing this pain .
I accept all of your conditions.
I’ll come
And in return of each meeting ,
Will give you a part
Of me
As you’ll say.
The eye on the other side of the hole in
The door disappeared in dark seeing her
Returning.
She layed back on her bed
Thinking
About the three meetings
In the last two years.
She was unable
To complement poems
And
The rest he said
Was incomprehendible .
Tangled thoughts & twisted poems
She had to save both
Herself & him
So
According to the condition,
Cutting all her nails,
She went to see him
A G A I N
“ perhaps it is our last meeting “
The painting
Placed on the wall,
The fan
Hanging from the ceiling,
The half lit cigarette
In the ash tray
Spoke together
“ You always think like this
Think of every meeting
As last one
& it will become
As joyous
As the first”
“ Would that
I can think like this
Think what I’m going to ask
For
The next meeting”
“I
Don’t
Know
What I know
Is we’ll meet
Next time as well”
“ even If
You have to
Sacrifice your eye
Cigarette pieces were scattered on the floor
As if
They wanted to tell something
The crevices on the bed had been whispering
Books had been tired and slept
But the newspaper was insisting to tell the truth
Fan consistently repeated
“He was a coward
He was a coward
He was a coward “
And the clock
Was adding “ was “ to its “ was “
Has someone killed him?
He was disliked and he should have been
But he had no enemies
No one hated him to the extent of killing him
Table & chairs
Had been arguing
The entire room
Had become a question mark
For
The girl sitting on the chair
And was looking at her
Like looking
From the door’s hole
The fan was repeating the same
The girl tied her golden hair
Dried her eyes
Made the fan quite
Cigarette’s pieces were still now
Quietly looking at the ceiling
The bed’s crevices changed their place
And the newspaper
Was saying
“ He Committed suicide
Under a bus”
The Holy Christ
Gave his life for us
Who will give the rest?
This is now a routine
Ticket ticket
Each day, someone was looted, especially along this
Way
Our forefathers also did this work
Yes work , work and work
Ticket ticket
Look forward
Stop , hey stop
You lier! Pay the rest
An infidel can never be friends with a Muslim
Get closer please
Stop
Hey Stop! Or you intend to take me home?
Getting
D
O
W
N
From the bus,
I habitually checked
The back pocket
Of my jeans
Abused myself
But I / he didn’t get up from my seat
Perhaps I / he dropped the purse on the seat
Perhaps I’ll get to know something from the terminal
Last stop is nearby
But even if found ,
Who will return it
Perhaps it’ll be returned
It didn’t contain any money
With this hope , he sat on the back seat
Ticket ticket
Where
Last stop
Everyone’s going to the last stop
I was made attentive to the voice of the child sitting
Beside me
As I saw, it was revealed , he isn’t a child but a short
Old man
Shortest I had ever seen
Are there people who are so small
I thought
Payed the conductor
And didn’t reply the small old man
What have you lost?
The question made me surprised
Your eyes are the eyes
Of one who is looking
For something
Your eyes are like a man who is illiterate but is
Finding something in the picture of the word
I have lost my purse
Was there something precious ?
The jolt of the bus had more effect on the small
He pretended to stare at the driver
Though he couldn’t see
Anything above the next seat
Yes very precious ….
It had everything I have
It had me
Perhaps you’ll find you
On the last stop
Usually everyone finds everything on the last stop
But what you’d been doing in your purse?
I don’t remember
And all I can’t remember
Is kept
In the purse
Like there were names
Let me help you in finding your purse
Get down
The Search began once again
The small old man said
You’ve got tired
Stay here for a while
Until then I’ll find the seat where you sat previously
But how’ll you find that bus which has that seat ?
You haven’t seen me / him getting down from it
Only heard
And heard it from the one
Who got off that he has got off
The dwarf didn’t stop even after listening to him and
Went to find the bus
I he
Waited for his return
Sitting on the bench
To sleep while waiting
And to wake suddenly and
Guessing
Which way is the door
To guess the
Position before going
To sleep
Is an incidence
Of a part of a moment
And those
Who have gone through
This incidence
See the short film
Of
Death in their lives
It happens
In beginning
Firstly
We can not believe
We are
Dead
Slowly
We get used to
Death
We don’t adopt
Or quit any habit
Neither
Nor those
Who died prior to us
But one thing,
We don’t think
Or care
Or assume
Or need to know
When did the first man died
Neither we know its been ages
Since then
We only know you are new here
As always
And so you are here as always
I’ve heard
Or read
Somewhere between
The lines
But I can’t say it for sure
Yet can say with certainty
Listening
To the teller
That I’ve seen him
Somewhere
But if I’m in my room,
Have I died along with my room?
I wanted to ask in the same strange language but he
Started talking
Again
Yes
You
Died
Along
With
Your
Room
If you’ll leave your room,
You’ll see you are dead
Along with your home
And your home
Is one among many
Deadhouses in the city
Of which you are dead
In one
Getting this reply to the question I was about to ask I
Should have been amazed
And getting such a reply I should have been
Disturbed but I didn’t get amaze
And this too wasn’t amazing
But the question is
When did I meet
The one replying me
Do you know
One doesn’t see
Any unknown face
In one’s dream
If he feels,
He some strange face in the dream its his illusion
That is created after getting up
Otherwise,
During sleep,
One breaks old faces and makes
New ones
Or takes the face from the crowd
Which has passed
Through one’s eyes
But one hasn’t
Paid
Attention
As you were watching me from the bank’s roof,
I thought you were
Coming
But you didn’t
I came
To your world that day
Its something very happy for me
But I’m not happy
Are you happy
First you tell
Where did my room go ?
To heaven or to hell?
It
Is
Where
It
Was
Your room is in HELL
And also in HEAVEN
Who cares
There’s nothing to worry about
You are dead
So be free
From worries & care
And if you don’t
Feel free
You had been incarcerated upon getting free
You are not dead
What
The heaven
What
The hell
Well Well
Good morning