The Poem - Generations old!

There was a first

and they were his words.

The other listened

patiently, sometimes

slept with eyes wide open.

In between punctuations,

gargles of alcohol,

a few nature's calls

and some verses blank,

The other would be seated,

seats below,

a meter below the meter

An old saying ran in the village

"Distance from the first always safer"

The first would recite,

pause;

The other would clap,

release a few audible excites.

Scratch his head,

Sometimes the groin,

Looks at the sun

when he came - was a red ball,

now - a bright ball,

when he will leave - in the sky a different ball.

His father had done the same,

So had the father's father.

Generations of practice,

Taught the survival in the game.

His son -

young and naive.

In the distance squatted,

played five on five.

Bought along to observe,

In years will have to learn,

Earn,

the family's morsel of bread,

Safe keep the land,

and all other fears that they dread!

The first would rise,

the other followed.

The first sighed,

the other sheepishly smiled.

The first burped,

the other gulped.

The first moved away,

Two hands on two men,

The alcohol must have been strong,

The other picks up his child,

Sleeping on the grass,

mud on his hide,

worms sleeping by his side.

On the way back, his questions galore -

"Baba - what did you hear today?"

The other would cradle him closer

"Poetry, my son, everyday!"

"Was I there in it?"

another question,

another silence from the other.

Many pauses later,

"No, my son, not you nor grand pa or me was in it!"

Patterns

I woke up next to her. The room was dark with faint streaks of street light sneaking past the curtains. Light always manages to surreptitiously make way into the dark corners. All it requires is a small crack, a gap, an inconsequential crevice or even a brief parting. As I sat on the edge of the bed, I deliberately parted the curtain to allow the smooth operator to sneak into the room willingly and sate it’s curiosity to explore dark corners. Dressed in yellow, drawing patterns of the window grill over my face in soft shadows, settling comfortably on the floor, a few of its rays carelessly lay on the bed next to me, flirting silently with my presence. I looked outside. The road that overlooked the window lay bare and my eyes could trace its unending horizon, adorned with numerous street lamps that seemed to coalesce into the dark sky as stars in the distant horizon. I shifted my gaze on the bed where she was lying, unaware, oblivious of the spectacle and my state of mind. The bed stead hugged her tracing the contours of her body. It seemed to be gazing back at me, teasing me at the proximity it seemed to be enjoying with her naked body. I let out a sigh and shifted my gaze back on the road and thought about the night, which was only a few hours old.

Our kisses were always very passionate. From gentle brushes to passionately crushing each other, our lips seemed to have a life of their own. For a few brief moment we would pause, the air echoing with our heavy breathing, look into each other’s eyes and then as if the wait has been itself too long, the lips would lock themselves again. Hands would prowl, pushing, pulling, and tugging at anything that would try and come between our skins. In between all this she would laugh when I bury myself on her neck, but that would be momentary. The bed would take the brunt of our wrestle; cotton, silk and sometimes satin crushed under our bodies. For those minutes everything seems to be secondary – time, the mobile phone ringing, the music, the candles that would never be lit and many other things that would be our concern when we would be two different individuals. Sometimes there would be questions in my mind but would be exorcised as quickly as they would conjure under the pulpit of the passion. I would laugh, sometimes smile and be in a state of stupor; she would winch, bite her lips, close her eyes, clench her fists, claw my back and seconds later everything would come to an abrupt end, the room would be filled with an eerie silence, sometimes punctured by hoarse whispers of her “love you.”

It was no different today. I kept lying on the bed, knowing what would come next. She crawled herself to my bare chest, kissed it and caressed the hair on it, she so much loved. I ran my hands through her tresses, carefully separating a few strands falling over her eyes. I wanted to see her eyes but like always her face would be buried inside me. I pulled myself back a little allowing her more room to rest her head on. My ears were slowly registering the various sounds around us now. Reality was near and I kept playing with her hair, hoping feverishly that she would fall asleep and silence would be the last conversation before we woke up again. For a long while she lay still and I strained my neck a little to see if she had slept. And then she spoke, her voice feeble but seemed to echo in my ears – “You took her name again today. You loved her a lot, na?”

I knew the question; I have heard it many times in the last few months. The past always caught up with me. “Perhaps, I can out run it someday,” I thought to myself as I looked out of the window. I could still see the road and the lights plastered unto the canvas. Nothing seemed to have changed from when I woke up till now. Time, Yes, time has passed but nothing else has changed. The light was still searching for other crevices and every time it has managed to find a presence in my room through the curtains. I looked at her on the bed. I made way back on the bed cuddling closer to her. The curtains – I left them open. I can’t fight the light anyway.