By Saranyan BV
At the fourth level, there is an alcove hidden from other human beings.
(I didn’t know fourth level existed.)
From here a slope moving down in the form of roof,
Looks over another slope, again a roof.
If I can’t see the people, neither can they me!
The pane at this level has a small crack
To allow the air I require to breeze in. Thank you, Lord.
The space in the alcove allows me to stretch,
Allows me the freedom to assume a foetal posture.
The alcove keeps me cold, keeps me warm.
It gives the creepy feeling I might fall off or roll down.
It gives the assurance I am safe.
Here shadows spill light, nights shine darkness.
The whole thing is about the mind.
There is always the whistle, the thoughts about sex,
When it’s not about the sex, it’s about Gods,
About men travelling in trains, men running for cover to hide nakedness.
I am always missing my trains, waiting to find the station’s rest rooms,
Waiting in front of restrooms for the restrooms to be free.
Here people don’t acknowledge truth, the media doesn’t.
The Caxton phenomenon* is dead, all channels whore.
And then there is the sky, the big clear sky like a slice of cake.
The big sky out there where the birds fly, birds make the clouds wait for another day.
How little I feel, how little.
I speak to the feathers to share the alcove.
I speak to feathers because, reasons can’t speak to anyone else in this high alter of solitude.
I impress upon them to share the alcove
Because times are not shareable.
*Caxton phenomenon refers to the impact William Caxton had on English literature and language when he introduced the printing press to England in 1476
Saranyan BV is poet and short-story writer, now based out of Bangalore. He came into the realm of literature by mistake, but he loves being there. His works have been published in many Indian and Asian journals. He loves the works of Raymond Carver.
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One reply on “Alcove and the Theory of Time”
Your thoughts penned take one to another level with no layers of deceit, deception, betrayal or fraud. Reminds me of a race between me and my shadow when sometimes I lead my shadow and another moment my shadow leads me and then finally the moment in time arrives when we both merge together, neither I exist nor my shadow.
Appreciate your writing breaking barriers, borders and boundaries, lighting up a flame invisible but giving warmth as well providing a shade coll too👍👏👏👏🙏
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