‘n death?’ she asked
voluntary death is good…
‘but it hurts bad’
death never hurt anyone…its de life
before it… life in pictures…
pictures you always stare blankly
for answers or for more questions
it may be…
n hoping that it ll come back
to you by only looking…
or in texts, letters, poems, literature…
postcards, from all over…
scripts….’movie scripts?’ that’s where you
get your emotions from…
until you make familiar with them… so
movies that u come out feeling
were made out of your
vulnerabilities…. your miseries…
re familiarity’ brood
‘songs?’ i remember one
about dying young
in an immaculate desolation…
(yes! only desolation or melancholy
or related words
can be immaculate…)
cowboys with ropes… to lariat
the young man… you knw de purpose!
‘same purpose…’
n de insolent thing follows up when
they ask your last wish…with scuttles…
being filled for morning wash…
over flowing… once ladies meet..
n with cattle in de distance….
going further…
but they ‘re already granting it…
‘death?’
death!
i looked up at de clock…
n around
1:30 am…. n bar is alive
later we were searching for
de way out… it was de same
door we got in… but somehow,
it looked different…
beer? or was it her?
or was it de death? or just me
after too much of beer…
n too much of her…
n too full of death…?
The writer is a correspondent at Youth Ki Awaaz. A student of Delhi University, coming from Sikkim, he believes that all his experiences in life are revisited through his poems.