As I entered my neighbourhood, I spotted a hearse parked a few metres away from my house. Someone must be dead. My mind instantly assumed it to be the ill-treated and ailing father of the notorious neighbour staying diagonally across my house.
Deserted myself; blew up into the smoke,
Drowned in liquor; walked out of all ties,
Tied to posts and hung from the cliff;
Gasped for drown; vomited dragon.
Made more alone; walked out of body,
Flew off the ground; hit the clouds,
Blasted through the mountains,
Burnt into ashes; destroyed in oblivion.
You keep running through the trenches
Ignoring the dead under your feet;
Your time following behind.
It is dark,
Everything is in shades of green,
Blood is black,
Oozing from mangled bones
As you step over them.
Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.
From the bed in our old house, I could see the park and all those playing there. How lucky they were!
Ma said that rats would come one day, take my teeth and give back stronger and sharper ones. “Ma, when will the rats come? It pains!” Ma was not there to hear me. Nobody hears me. Even Majid Bhai would not listen to me when I say that I’m spitting blood. Anyway, when everyone would be celebrating, I would have to work.