Switch on the stars, I wanna see the night.
I tried looking around quickly, they were locking the door again. I wanted to devour the whole room with my eyes in the limited time. Failed. The thin ray of dusty light disappeared at once as he closed the strong iron door behind him. This iron cell is meant for me. It gives me some pleasure to think that I cannot be contained in cement rooms with wooden doors. But being a prisoner is not nice anyway. A shudder ran down my spine. Do I have to spend the rest of my life here? It’s so damp. They’ve probably never opened this room before. A cockroach ran across the room. I could feel sweat trickling down. I think they looked like silver beads. They generally do. I cannot see in the dark. But I need to leave this room. I cannot see anything. It is too dark in here, there are no windows. No cracks and no holes. Crawled from one end to the other. The floor is sticky, dirt stuck to my moist palms. There aren’t any ventilators either I think. I looked up at the ceiling. I cannot see it. I am getting weaker day by day. Before they come with their tubes and vials tomorrow, I need to leave. I am scared of them. You shall think it’s a joke. I am formless, but a chameleon nonetheless. I peep inside human beings, and I seep in, slowly. Like water in crevices. And that’s how I win over. Usurp their lives. Limit them, cripple them, overcome their minds. I occupy very little space. Sleep inside a tiny oval structure, the size of a nut- amygdala. But it surprises even me to sometimes think of the things I’m capable of. It’s a nasty thing, you’d say. But who has ever won over hunger? Hunger for power. Sans shape, sans teeth, sans form, I have to exercise my power in every way I can. Scared of losing my identity, I started crawling frantically once again, on the seemingly never ending wall. I wish I knew what colour the wall was. I laughed at my fate. I feel scared. Fear. A restless feeling in a non existant heart. Like falling off a cliff. Or drifting away in the sea. Mapless. That’s how you describe me, I’ve heard. I’ve already spent countless hours in this room, spent from trying to find an escape route. Should I accept defeat? Should I stay here and watch them recreating me, reproducing me in more powerful ways, be content with it? After all, my purpose is being fulfilled. But they can’t strip me of my power. You cannot live feeling inferior. They’re using me to do what I am supposed to do after all. They are supposed to fear me too. I cannot be trapped. I have to run away. I fidget in the dark. My eyes are aching from relentless attempts to look in the darkness. You think of my insidious motives and shudder when alone, but the apparent sweetness in stretched smiles of your fellow beings is more wretched than my business. They come here everyday. They come in suits and glasses and polished shoes. Sometimes, they wear cheap nylon shirts too. They caught me with their tricks and tools. They are clever. Cut me up in formless polygons and squeeze out my strength. I am mixed with vibrant chemicals, stored in air conditioned rooms. Or they make thin barrels and triggers out of me. And egg shaped shells which induce fear.
Via Daily Post: Identity
At rest at the master’s whim.
Some servants weren’t allowed at temples.
Also, ordinary enough to be unnoticed.
Hence, safely made to wait. Unguarded.
Polonius said of Hamlet- Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.
A frenzied flurry of pain,
Follow the same old pattern,
Jump from one blood vessel to another-
Bursting each open.
Faces move past in a blur, like streetlights through the window of a speeding car.
It’s the first step I take every time.
Second, I pause at each face.
I am belted on to the driver’s seat, my left foot on the brake.
A maddening reluctance to feel safe, a desire to fall step by step,
Into a dark abyss of repetition. Of methodical heartbreak every time.
Like scientific results of frenzied experiments.
Maddening results repeated every time.
Who evades the fall? I ask.
Those who speed past faces…fall into an unimaginably circular habit,
Of not falling at all.
Keep going back and forth
To new faces and old,
New faces and old.
Because human actions are a methodical folly-
Repeated in circles and circles more.
Monochrome movements on a wide glass screen-
A bright white sun, white robed delivery at a church.
Stooped black heads moving like ants in line,
But the chains were all human sized.
And the cloth sacks failed to hide whipped backs.
A long black train raced through the image noise,
Or maybe was its cause-
Exhaling black smoke along its way,
A thick burnt smell filled my thoughts
Mixed with blood and yellowed pages.
But let me breathe, unlike raging fire in marble hearths
At winter cities during lavish tours.
It let me breathe, unlike burnt red chillies in the neighbouring Granny’s kitchen.
Because, it was a story of the past,
And I was only watching black heads coughing at black smoke on a wide glass screen.
Via Daily Post: Delivery
The fierce sun shone uninhibited,
Through powerless fleeting clouds,
Pushed through thirsty brown leaves,
Heated up the fractured ground.
And heated up a mound of flesh,
Featherless, fallen off his nest.
His mother’s cries sounded like silence
Mixed with foliage and cricket chirps.
And a pair of yellow eyes watched-
The little bird on the naked ground.
The forest saw his regal wings,
Swooping down upon a helpless prey,
But negated nature’s course as
He stopped abruptly on his way.
Circled round and round above
The helpless one on the burning ground.
The forest watched in silent awe-
A hooded beak hovering broad,
His gigantic shadow never left the bird.
And the fierce sun failed to heat up
Through the regal, wild, Godly gird.
Via Daily Post: Shadow