By: Amulya

Of relapses into childhood,
of placid oblivion,
of all the places we pretend to inhabit, of people we pretend to understand.

The unmomentous happenstances we long for,
the truth nestled in our fears, startling us with its incontrovertibility;
the idea of impermanence slowly creeping into the deepest secrets of desire.

Normalcy clawing at sanity, like a clock with rigid hands ticking away in the winter.

The cold, a reminder of all the things that could have been,
The evening, a ghostly shadow of the uneventful day.

Days pass by,
each one burrowing deeper into time’s nest.
The world becomes a fading photograph,
with dog ears and malaise tucked away in the corner of a closet.
Defeaning silences punctuated by pallid dreams,
Time loses its meaning,
Seconds stretch indolently into hours.
The walls become a haze, a dull pista green;
inducing a stupor.
Trains rumble on,
to distant unknown places in bored stupefaction.
Words get lodged in my throat and
the heart slips into a deep slumber.
The clock stops,
time freezes and

the earth becomes a perilous glass orb.

As the day awakens itself from the tumult,
crows caw racously,
rickshaws crawl on torpidly, and

the sky is almost a steely gray.
If you listen carefully, you can hear the night speak to you;

in mellow whispers, a voice muffled by the vacuum.

The vastness of the universe encompasses itself in the silence of the sky, eluding reality.
The eclectic hue of serendipity scatters into the starry night.
Words unbeknownst to me, slip out of the pores of my skin and breathe life to the

sentences of my existence.
Opulent dreams knock at the doors of a utopian paradise.
The nostalgia of bygone times cajoles life to heal.
Words spill, creating ripples in the quietude of the night.
The languor of everydayness rises to life, flagrantly and gloriously, like an ode:

to life’s abstruse brazenness.