Room No. 1111

She will come, you will come
It was just yesterday
We rolled together in that blanket full of stripes.

You had pounced on me, coming out of
your woolen grasslands.

A few deaths were assured.

A kill ought to be savored for four days.
Though it ended each day in a life;
in a hope.

I wanted to reach you
I wanted to make the grasslands, not woolen.

How I wished the window was a device
for my memory card.

Today I want you to arrive once again.

‘Adjust your shutterspeed’, my partner says.

As I don’t want to be murdered
by a dream once again

There you are.
Those stripes are golden.
You pounce.

How much I had waited for this.

You pounce but away from me.
Wait. Don’t go.

What are you doing?
Why are you following for a fading? Cries my partner

My partner –
the hotel room on the twelfth floor.


Book mine for room no 1111

Sorry Sir,

the room has been sealed.

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Peace

I defy myself each time I am in for more.

Love and hate are tragedies.

The smallest ripple in a pool is a tragedy.

I overcome and evolve only when I experience
and all I keep doing is that.

No share of my brain has been left for me to eat.

I keep defying myself to remember me.

I am forgotten the day I am born

until my next womb crouch,

where things around me will be ugly,
where beauty will always be about to decay
and life will stink

but I can hold myself together
and sleep without thoughts

without even knowing I will be known.

I defy myself for the forgotten peace

between two consecutive collisions.

Birds

Will we have a shot
or have we already neglected many for a few?
I ask, as I place my eye on the tripod
Let it keep a note.

You do the same.
Hours pass by

and now we are a low explosion
suddenly blown out of a bush
I watch the souls of some leaves flutter away
getting seperated from us,
coming towards us,
passing us; disappearing.

I and you, my friend
We both just hugged as our wives,
on a roof somewhere, miles away,
as the birds flew over.

Did they feel it?
The air; the known air
May be they did
We can’t tell

Here, the hours pass slowly.

The python making its pass

on the viewfinder.