Have you ever walked alone on a grey day in some village

And watch how the long evening soon become the past ?

How the small and brief wind touches our shoulders

Full of question marks.

I make a hat out of these question marks

Question marks without questions.

You may wear it much later in the evening

When there is no reason to use

Body gestures and presumptions that can only take us till the river

But why is it that I say black and you look at the black sheep ?

Why is it that I say white and you think of purity ?

What have you done to me two years ago ?

What a strange disease you have passed it to me,

Why am I allowed to love everything that breathes ?

It is a morning’s work

That the moon has started.

It must be carried on

Finished by the noon.

Oh ! But my poor poor soul !

You and your colourful thoughts

The thoughts in me like a rainbow in hell.

We’d better float on the ocean

Than to walk on the fragments.

Then, here comes a shiny boy

Mischiveous smiles and wild imaginations.

I wanna play hide & seek with you.

But he frowns at my smiles.

Smiles of fragile minds

Frowns of fragile minds

How we read the same book

But must live differently.

Like the angry poem I wrote last night

About the girl looking for me in a mountain of sunsets

But what is a language if not a shadow?

What is ‘I’ if not a benefit to ‘you’ ?

Come out of the cave of the seriousness,

For it will always be there no matter what.

And do not let what I say to you be forgotten

Like a broken leaf blowing helplessly in apocalyptic storms.

Remember the times of conflicts and wasted sentiments.

I know it hurts growing up:

It hurts to let go of dead poets,

It hurts to come out of the prison

Of your mothers and fathers,

It hurts to hug the one in front of you,

It hurts to express your hatefulness,

Your boredom,

Your love,

It hurts me when she throws at me

The can full of yellow left-over paints.

It hurts her when I throw some blues at her.

Tomorrow she might bring me a camera to hear and a recorder to see

And that’s better for all.

Tomorrow I will be on a different train

To find other brothers and sisters.

=

Sometime in this doggy dreams of snow

In fields of blossomed flowers,

A chamaleon in silence, glued,

One of the roads must be taken

One of the instruments must be played.

The page of the book that cannot be turned.

I am sorry.

I am sorry.

Now look how selfish are the lovers,

Decide to love only one another

Promise the stars

Make a pact with the heaven.

What is in between them?

A /, a , or a ! ?

Even the subtlest sand won’t able to go

In between their souls,

Firmer than a ‘self’

Firmer than the master with food

Firmer than the old man’s tears from half-closed eyes.

Perhaps they were born in a wrong place

Perhaps they were to born in a different place

Perhaps I was born in a wrong time.

But the world is round,

And so are the dimensions

Juxtapositions.

We try hard to make our thoughts square

That are naturally round.

For we are part of nature and nature is round.

One can be in the same place but in different times

Or, in the same time but different places.

Out in the forest of paranoia and silence,

Crying the tears of yesterday,

Taking an ideal travel in memory,

The telephone rings

« Girl, you gotta paint some heavenly landscape of your own imagination ! »

I am glad.

Thank you partner in crime

Thank you girl with a double bed

Thank you teacher of plants and stars

Thank you sculptor in rice fields

Thank you child of rational mind

Thank you painful acrobat

Thank you jazz enthusiast

Thank you endeavouring merchant

Thank you idle thinker

Thank you poetic dog

Thank you book keeper

Thank you sensitive lady of the house

Thank you the forgottten souls

A goodbye in future tense.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Isha