A pale yellow light
Floods the room,
The reds pass by through
The window

The tip of the pen stammers,
As it fidgets across the pages,
Towards narrower edges,
Turning them over
In its wake

From white to black, the pages
Muddle with the brain;
Is a zebra black with white stripes?
Or white with black?

Ink blot

Paper soaks paper off of its filth;

The sirens stop

The eyes turn inwards:
They look white,
The body, frozen

The person has moved

Down a tunnel, and
Across a bridge

Let the Vikings come, and
Make the journey together,
While they slaughter,
And plunder;
(A merry state of affairs)

Along the way
They die, and
The person remains alone,
Rooted to the spot

Such indecision;
Company accompanied the calm,
Now what?
A spark
Forges through the river, and
Reaches the lake,
Swims through the muck, and
Reaches the ocean

The person is helpless as,
Water is stronger,
The will can surely not sustain itself;

The person looks down
Only hands
No legs
No body
Only neck
No ears
No hair
No hunger
No lust
No sickness
No thirst
The vision remains,
The periphery removed,
Looking like never before

The person tries to smile,
No mouth;
The ocean begins to come closer,
Closer still,
Blackness overwhelms
And yet,
The vision remains

Deeper still,
Stroke after stroke,
The person starts to choke,
Grabs the neck
Perhaps speeding the process,
An outsider can never tell

The brink of extinction
Comes and goes,
Comes and goes still,
And yet the vision remains

A dot of white breaks
loose, the lack of it,
Which the person heads towards,
Hands grabbing the neck,
One can never be sure

It seems, that,
The white is not light
And the black is not darkness.

The eyes turn outwards,
The breathing starts,
The pain stops

The pen, it seems, has leaked its ink
On the words it first etched out;
Such clarity;

The sirens return, and
The window opens
To let the air in, and
The vision seeks to look past
The limits of a square

Image after image
Catches the eye,
Like cobwebs on a summer breeze
The wings begin to sprout,
To ensure flight,

Let’s devour our own tails.

comments powered by Disqus

From The Blog

Raise For Rise

— For the most part, boiling everything down to metaphors and shiny words fails the actual intention. Nonetheless, if Ms. Seema Chawla, from Lucknow, is a master ceramist, then her class of eighty slum kids is clay. And if her class is a garden, then she is the gardener who toils in the heat and provides for water (see: uniforms, bags,... Read More

Upcoming Poetry Meets

— Come, let us talk. Let us talk about how that warm cup of coffee last night left you feeling so cold, or how you wish pixels could move and people could stay. Let us dissect why you’ve stopped asking questions, why you dreamt your ex was a bearded lady at the Piccadilly Circus, and why you have a John Green-esque... Read More

8 Links You Need To Revisit To Gain Perspective on Terrorism

— 2015 has been a dreadful year, at least if you look at it from the terrorism angle. There have been over a hundred terror attacks in the past eleven months alone, if you are to believe websites such as Wikipedia or The Religion of Peace. To shed some much needed perspective, we’ve combined a list of eight websites... Read More

5 Things India Must Celebrate This November

— It’s that time of the year again- the streets are lit up with little lamps and the chaos of crackers seems to take over the atmosphere. As India gears up for the Diwali season and the celebrations begin in full swing, we think that India could definitely add a few more occasions to the list to keep the spirit of... Read More

Conversations of Verse, 21.08.15

— Barrels, Vasant Vihar, was where the next convention of us jittery poets took place. It was nice to see the crowd gradually enlarging, which also greatly contributed to the cozy atmosphere created by dim lighting and agreeable music in just the right decibel. The whole place was teeming with people hardly able to contain their words because of the weight... Read More

Conversations of Verse

— Of poetry, magic, and more. Situated innocuously at the interior of a beautifully flowery lawn, one amongst many in Delhi, was The Potbelly Rooftop Café: a nice, upbeat, fairly regular place where one could hang out and have a couple of coffees with friends or familiars. However, today was unlike any other day, and the stage was set for... Read More

Changing Times

— Hello, readers. The ’Zine is back with, well, kind of a bang (excuse the cliché). There are a number of things planned for you all, the first and foremost being that you’ll get to see a different face of The ’Zine with the same body but different body parts (decode this metaphor!) We’re renovating and redesigning, and who doesn’t love... Read More