and then….

And then I move on
to annihilate the venomous existence of self-imposed confines.

Day in and day out – I am lost.
I am chained with my restricted thoughts.
It grows every day. It sucks the blood out of me. It blows my face.
I am thrown into the anguish and that is killing me every day.
I am looking for life sans the life in me. The pain of not having life
in the midst of lifeless people itself is knocking me down.
I look up with the bloody face and
see nothing but dark and wild sky roaring up above.
It rains hard. No sign to stop.

And then I move on
to annihilate the venomous existence of self-imposed confines.

I am at the bus stop waiting for it to pick me up and drop me home.
I want to be home but my head’s still heavy.
The return of the dark cloud and the rain knocks me again.
I get wet. My voice is lost. I try and I cannot speak.
My vision’s blurred too – but I can see the dead people walking around me.
Someone whispers me in my ear “it is ok for a dead man to dance
with a dead man when both of them are bleeding”.

And then I move on
to annihilate the venomous existence of self-imposed confines.

I am seated in a bus now. Next to an old guy.
He looks tired. Face drenched with blood drops, he keeps gazing at me.
He’s the same man who’d whispered in me. Fuck!
With trembling voice, I say hello – no reply.
I look around and realize there’s no one in the bus.
Only the old man and me. Holy Fuck. I am on the wrong lane!
Suddenly, it’s dark again and there’s no exit out of the bus.
It keeps moving on and on and on. I cover the strained, shocked eye balls.

Its dawn. Out of the bus, I look up at the clear. The sun’s almost up. The old man’s gone – I don’t know where. He’s left a note for me. “Young man – you have a life, go now and live”

And then I move on
to annihilate the venomous existence of self-imposed confines.

and then i move on
P.S. Thanks so The Sane for giving the piece some fine touch.

2 thoughts on “and then….

  1. A journey into disillusionment from illusions, a retracing to the lane from below the plane of the dark, i see in this piece, the becoming of a man, the coming of man to terms with the fucking reality around and yes surely the acceptance of being what a man is– a child in the dark, but glorious man in the sunshine and a lover in the dusk and dawn!

    Here is Ginsberg to say something–
    “in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night”

    From, Howl

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