The remainder

The remainder

Blank open spaces remain, from the eclipse,
not much around has changed
false and plastic prophets, still carry megaphones
of blindness

Vast and lush, such used to be words that would ring open
into a starry ocean of our purple night, deepening still, into
little 24 hour long black-holes called reality and truth;
torn and reveling in surrender to
trigger-happy journalists, reporting live
from the grimy confines of lower east side and mumbai’s entrails,
“The television should’ve been dead by now”, you breathed out,
hair flailing slowly from your lips,
against the orange moonlit shadow of a wooden lamp,
you heard me say a number of words,
some discernible, some dead.
they spoke at length about the quiet rustle of leaves
in wintered night of JNU, IIT, New York, Atlantis
and heaven.

were these not the very words?

I do believe that you are quite frankly, out of your mind
wind-stricken fool of glorious vacancy for age
deep-brown in your sleep, and a fall
into what you call grace,
I could just sigh in pity, or pray god to shine his light upon you
perhaps. Someday.

You are wrong. You are not you. You have fallen prey again
to your falcon of choice,
and you don’t need to blink.
that wouldn’t prove a thing to concoct any further cry from truth,
to what has unfolded and will lust for the sheets,
and fold, and fold, till you are no longer familiar with your own mirror.

The slander in your words, quivers forth in your voice
only those who have used, can feel the dull ache in their joints,
before the turk sets upon,
if only you never knew such a word existed