by Jayanta Oinam 

For an old miser like me,
Who frets over the qualms of life,
Dying silently in the obscurity, and
Waiting for one last journey, is
Like a futile adventure against the destiny.

Talking about Destiny
Reminds me of certain trail,
of a Poet, a barking poet
Who barks at everything
For the black holes of undying chasm
For the graves that embrace unknown souls;
And with every pause, he says:
‘Graves and black holes
They are the landscapes with new meaning
No pretention, no fluttery, but
The landscape of a new civilization’.

Then, I kneeled
And watched the space between my legs
Upside down, it looked a morbid architecture
Left unwanted for the future
With few urinated walls of ruins
And there, I saw my body
In resurrection, like a landscape drawn poorly
For a makeshift barrage
From the lame shin who can’t follow a girl
To the mouth of sinking lips, cursed with kisses;
Little far away
Through the space between my legs
The black holes, they swerved through the nadir
And raised as graves, there
Souls hovered wearing familiar masks
And again
I am frightened for the life.
My legs,
They dropped with an awful thump
There the poet stood tall
With his half grinned humanity
And I was left for the body.
For him
My body was one of those black holes, and
For me
My body was the grave!

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