The ladder’s too high, so you roll down the thick. Then you reach the sky. It’s blazing. Nowhere. Well, I’ve been. It seems to have reached somewhere the empty, grey clouds can’t reach. It’s the wake of morning and I can’t make it to the dry reaches – the depths of the despair – it’s the hate I can’t undo, the little chores to the submissive foes. The fowls are there, the naked sunrise too. I can’t wail into the narrow alley where the sunbeam can’t fail to die. There the faces are little and the bellies flattering. The shaken are a little too thirsty. The blossom is making the unseeable a scene where I did my vagaries. Undone and unabolished, the sacred and the divine. The rehearsals of the much needed lessons and I find myself running into the empty corridors only to dive into the carefree fog where I tend my soul to the porches of the birds and their songs. I’ve an affair to settle. I strike a chord and it just lives till it is forgotten. It deserves a place in my heart. There are things to do and I can’t let go of the buried life. The forgotten are forgiven. The battered are bared. The scared are summoned and placed to mouth the pieces of the meal when I can find the sanctity. I lead and put to rest the broken battles. Much hangs in the wake at which I enter, much needs the space I can’t envelop. I have for long intended to savour the beasts of my making. The web way cares and the snake way dares. But the faults lies in the mockery, the present that flies in face of adversity.
The surrendered fake the death and the upended throw their fares. The lead is the spring that tries to break the levy. The place is lit. The faces are done. The lights are straight and the damp faded. Somehow I leave empty handed – the jarried dream. I hang in balance to outdo the living peace. Here I end my heart to the people. They side and I win the battle.
© Prateek Joshi and WordPress, 2017