Darpan 2007

Well, Darpan 2007 finally happened and this time, I actually took part in Poetry, churning out what I thought was 'not bad'. Only, a whole bunch of people I showed it to later, didn't quite get it. Here it is...

A Live Dream

An arc of flapping wings, consumed by orange,
Becoming part of the tinted sky.
The apron gets some air, a chance to breathe,
From being caressed with a knife for hours.
The children groan, “Just ten minutes more! Please!” –
Immortal time, where mothers are concerned.

But far away does mark our attention.
A giant ash-tray, tucked in a corner.
Rum-flavoured floorboards with a hint of beer.
Tar-coated walls hold mementos of oily heads.
Music, conversation go at each other
And the lights flicker, they’re too old for this.

He lies in a corner, draped over a stool.
Large, pomegranate eyes stare from deep pits
at tobacco-stained fingers, blurred by glass,
Matching thoughts distorted by high spirits.
For those ready to listen, he will talk –
A rusty typewriter, an endless page,
Occasionally admitting the cause –
“The alcohol works, it helps me forget…”
His words turn clouds to a dark shade of grey,
Making you wish you’d brought an umbrella.

He paints a hazy picture, endless fields
Of grain, pouring out from his pockets.
The price of wheat, maize, barley – at fingertips
madly longing for the cold, wet earth
following a heavy spell of sudden rain.
“Either the dream must die, or I!” he wails.
A Dream he’s tried to drown in vices,
A dream, a perpetual hemorrhage

His palette’s comprised of green and more green,
But he works for a man who dresses in black.
Dusting, rearranging and turning out lights…