Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The Disposables


What we were talking about
Just before sometime
Now, there is no word, no sound
Only a white noise of radio fills the air

Just before sometime
We were sitting here,
And the bonsai orange plant grew up to a tree,
Its leaves and branches reached out of the window
And it was all orange and
An afternoon in orange colour...

Now I see you standing below the street light
The city is wrapped in dusty fog.
From my sky high balcony I look at you
And the clock, hanging from my wall,
Melts down...

Just before sometime
A ball of thread dropped from my hand
And rolled down,
Like a little girl hopping through the staircase
Enmeshing me in a web of thoughts

A spider spins a web on my window
And a yellow butterfly searching for its way out
Just got stuck…
A noisy bird sitting on the electricity wire
Flew away, just before sometime
I cannot recall its name...
Just before sometime
The smoke coiled up;
Coiled up to the sky
And in a tempest
Everything blew away.
Everything… my bed, my table, my roof...
The wind rushed in through the window
And blew away the words from my notebook
The sodden floor got littered with words...

Just before sometime
A ball of thread dropped from my hand
And rolled down the staircase,
Following you…
         
I did not see you leaving
I can only smell the fragrance of your absence.

From here, I see the train leaving
Like a snake going inside a tunnel
Carrying the boxes of cacophony...

What we were talking just before sometime
Please try to remember; I got nothing is in my mind
Let us try to get back to our conversation
What we were talking just before sometimes...

3 comments:

  1. I love the imagery of 'hopping through the staircase'.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Bah :)
    Specially the sixth stanza i liked the most

    ReplyDelete