willfully cornered like a passive smoker.
The windows separate me from the without,
The scattered light resigns on the glass breaking it,
into several unintelligible products of my imagination.
And in this house am I today,
where the void lived so peacefully,
in places in the house created by death.
Protected by the walls that stood for years
spectating endless fights for existence.
The night is spread out across the house,
Romancing me like a seductress.
A private encounter of a faceless night with a face,
Raw and vagarious like a dream.
The fumes chase the native air
forming and breaking known shapes,
I linger on the bed understanding life,
in the dark corners of the house
that I own.
And here I am the emperor. I am the king.
I own the mornings and the afternoons,
the evenings and the nights,
I own everything around here,
even the darkness that teases my sight.
I have walked on a broken floor
through delicate doors to nowhere.
I have seen smiles brutally murdered in the house,
the lights turned off for an eternity.
But now again the sun knocks on my door,
uncovering me from a ragged blanket.
A hope now blossoms,
quietly conquering the places within the house,
The past has surrendered to this new night,
in the place that I have just re-espoused.
Also published in the October 2011 edition of Kritya - available here.
