What should I write
About it
when time has forgotten
to remember us
Staring across a
million light years
never knowing when
we would breathe in the morning
Which would finally arrive.
Was it a dream
Was I living elsewhere
When you coloured my gray sky
With an ink so dark
That even the sun smiled
Upon the rains here
In my fields of
Late blooms.
I lay open
Gazing at helium
Losing its life
I am messing up
A harangue inside
My sloppy dark mind
Ready to punch
The slumber from beneath
The covers
Of fat, fiction and
Folly
I let myself lose
In your grip and hurt myself
In what you call
Your love
Your unrequited words
Thrust and sweat of
Your man
never will it be enough to
Cover my whole being
With what I could call as
Mine.
But somewhere
in the dark realms of the core
Of the core
Of the molten earth
You hid like
a scent
I made love in
And I doused and revolved around
and about
and in and out
Until I died
And killed you in it
Now away with that helium
into an orbit
where light never saw the day.
*We all have our shadows. Long and casting, forever following, and it is the dark that brings out our twin from us. A physical form of our conscience.*
Varkey and Mary were shadows of each another. They didnt have shadows of their own. They were each another’s shadow. Stalking, encountering and falling into an ebb of silence whenever they cast each another with an elusive smile. Fragile shadows of one another that broke into shards of memories of what had gone and what little was left behind. They gave birth to one another and the world around them. Small for a bumpkin. Big for those who were alone. And yet here they were. In a corner of the world they never knew.
Yours truly always stalked. Yours truly always stared. Yours truly always gazed with what she thought were excellent binoculars for her eyes. Well yours truly and certain other things in life will never change. It was my unexplained pleasure in wondering what those two from another timeline were upto. Sometimes I wondered whether their hands still smelled of the fish they had for lunch. Sometimes I longed to hear what they would sound like reprimanding their grandson. Sometimes I wondered if their hunch stooped more and if it hurt them to walk to their beds. Sometimes I wondered if they were ever going to look back with a smile of knowing me all their lives.
They had sons, they had grandchildren. They had plants and a big white house. They had their wicker chairs and old rosaries. They wore white yet felt black because they thought they were invisible. Till they died they never knew how unfathomable the colour was. That black let you lose yourself in it. That black enraptured. That black snared you into its magic.
Yet here they were, Varkey and Mary, old and wrinkled, small and humbled, two souls of a lost world casting shadows longer than their struggles, at each another,waiting for an unborn child to call their own. To turn up like Jesus.
“Mary, nammale kaanaan aarum varilla. Nammal karuthu chulinja vayasaayavar alle.”
(“Mary, nobody will visit us. We are old, dark and wrinkled folks.”)
This is what yours truly had ever heard of them.
Until they left for a better place to build a new house, a new life, a new world.Miles and miles apart.
While I nourished the new world in my arms.
I dissolve
I fly
I sink
I cry
I pretend
I live
I turn red
I am shy
For when
I dream
I am disrobed
Of the life that
I learned
To live with
And I tumble
Back to the station
Still room
Filled with nothing
and mirth of swines
Oh when I dream
I meet souls
And Gods
And lunatics who
Laugh and cry
With all their might
So when I dream..
*
Oh how I wish
Someone would pay me
For dreaming
So high
So lot.
*
So when I dream
Of dancing in the rain
When the four eyes stare it
Dead
Through the looking glass
I paint
Another world
Where someone, somewhere
Yet me
Is alone, away
Afar and gay.
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