Ilham

I can turn down the volume
Not switch off the tape recorder

It starts somewhere deep
In the middle, mid-pant
A kind of dull throbbing
Reminding you of you

Incessant drone, like a shruti peti
A glass barrier, that distorts the shruti
Rather than enhancing it

How do I switch it off? This electronic
Buzz. This throng of voices. This returning
Coin, that rings with the world
That is content falling into the
well of the everyday archived in
Neatly folded moments

How do I separate the strands
From the gradient? How do I pluck
Out the twig from the current? The rays
Of white light, from the revolving strobe?

Out there, somewhere
Far away from the crowd
As apart as the space between
Two minds
Like the rasik who stands at the
Edge of the theatre hall
Smoking a beedi
Taking in the marwa
Like the unnatural green
In a city’s concrete street

Time sits. Hovering an inch
Above the ground
Smiling quietly. waiting

For me to get the joke

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About teevramadhyam

'I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity' -Poe
This entry was posted in #poemaday, beauty, Could be verse, epiphany, poetry, the apocalyptic real and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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