Out of Sync
How the body moves
shatters,
into zillion specks of glass
powered and brushed
to its core
but still every speck of it
can pinch and draw blood
can leave a scar
on your supple and nimble soul
How the body forgets the definition
and crosses the dimension
of pleasure and pain
when the old haggard memories stars dripping
from the ashen mind
which turns a new page every day
only to dog-ear the older ones
with the oil stains
How the body breaks and shatters
the inner cacophony
you have tried for eons
to suppress and not to surrender,
becomes the divine rhapsody
to which your body dances
even if the soul detests.
The overpowering phenomenon
the push and pull of the
devil in disguise
this constant struggle has started showing
breaking up in wrinkles
and in the crow’s-feet
marking and stabbing
piercing my body
and marking its territory in time
This tattoo work and the endless crocheting
has left my soul weak
frail at its edges
these sharp edges are
unable to align perfectly and
I’m out of sync
this constant whirring and
whizzing has given me motion sickness
and I’m a mute spectator
of moments fleeting by.
My body is out of sync
and the reason is undefined.
Nothing
How the feeling of emptiness devours
and takes me in
like an empty nest
and a hole in the ground
an empty den of the fox
with just loneliness gazing around
an unclaimed body
lying in the morgue..sleeping
without the
rush to being claimed or otherwise
Oh! how the emptiness seeps and seeks me
with the stories of yore
with phantom pain filling my pores
An old abandoned hut
covered with vines and creeps
in the middle of the farmland
waiting to be lived in
a beautiful nursery with
matching color crib and that mobile
tinkling to the sound of desertion
and those
patterned unused blankets
folded and tucked neatly
left in the pile
in the corner
to be donated
so it can be forgotten
Bearing a load of a heavy heart
a heart empty
scraped and scratched of any emotion
Uninhabitable
not good for any more use
No sun
No sunlight
and the shadows are empty
with nobody behind
A close look at my palms and
those lines have left me.
Oh! how the feeling of emptiness
fills and devours
everything in me.
Heritage
Those shriveled
wrinkled fingers
passing on that family album
with a fleeting touch
has passed on
the generations
under our feet
Those quivering
shaking voices
singing the lullaby at night
and the sparkling stories
jumped hoops from generations,
is scattering the wisdom
worth eons
in mere minutes
Those bony taloned hands
singing and crocheting
the praises of the holy ancestors
is bringing back live
the drawing etched
in the old forgotten caves
Those bay leaf
cinnamon-laced fingers
doused and soaked
turning the
wrapped yellow
broken paper
of centuries-old recipes
is keeping the taste alive in the
dying taste buds
That wisdom in the scriptures
spanning the gates of
times
Our heritage,
Our roots,
Our road to salvation.
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