Wednesday, November 14, 2012

I Dreamt I Was Killed



I dreamt I was killed at dusk:
Took the hit while remembering a prayer,
A bullet, a knife or a cardiac attack felt like arrows of kama,
Thought of an old laughable act, flailing-arms-crying-ma
But I stood silent till the last thought vapourized.
Those crazy eyes stared at me, massacring everyone,
I returned a crazy loving smile, recognizing my killer,
That hopping on one leg, those locks of matted hair
I should have said thank-you-o-god-you-latecomer
But I stood silent till the last thought vapourized.

That dream erased my nightmares, nearly.
I nearly forgot the lives I killed each day.
There was love’s death, divorce, suicide of the soul,
And a bewildering loneliness on a stage with no role,
I faced the unseeing crowd, a joker with no words, wide-eyed fool.
A tourist, a foreigner till I was a stranger in native land,
Raped, tortured, a mere plaything, forsaken and forgotten,
In solitary confinement, with emptiness, without rest,
And a fading drip-drip-drip of hope, that’s the cruelest.
I faced the unseeing crowd, a joker with no words, wide-eyed fool.

No comments:

Post a Comment