author - "Rafiq Sandeelvi"
The Sawdust Is Flying
Sparks flicker
In wet eyes
Flashing shadows crawl
In the hallway
The sawdust is flying
An oxygen tube
Affixed to the nostril
Corner of the lip smeared in saliva
Persistent hiccup
Permanent stupor
My present is severed from my absent
How should I tell what happened
Ages ago, our path was the same
In the bag, lunch prepared by mother
Books and satchel
Were the same
In the chinks of rafters
Sparrows dwelled with us
Our chirps were shared
The same clothes from the tailor
The same shoes
We bathed together in the drizzle
When the night came
We listened to the same stories
Water in the pitcher
Under the umbrella of the tree
Star-adorned sky
Aroma from the pot
And the blood in the veins
In short, our dream-world was the same
We were each others’ present and absent
We were twins
There wasn’t any duality
Organs and elements
Chest was joined with the chest
Heart with heart
Forehead with forehead
What to tell
How the spark leapt out of the wire
How the banks abandoned the river
How the thread snapped from the spindle
How the dreams on the headrest were swapped
Which turn the stairs took
What was that luggage
That the heart was ready to dump
But the back would not bend under whose weight
What was that pain
Whose shadows wanted to break free
From the shackles of being and manifestation
What should I tell
Of the fog that covered both sides of the wall
When the time placed us on the iron-plank
And plied the saw
And bisected us
From that day on
The sawdust is flying
From the dried stump
From rafters of the roof
From the books and dreams
The sawdust is flying
My present is severed from my absent
Strange Are The Cadres Of Being
Suddenly, a visage
With a hushed leap
Rushed past the mirror
Black and yellow stripes
Like waves strung together
Suddenly, the dressing table trembled
The clock’s golden reflection shuddered
The body – wrapped in fever – thawed out
In the microcosms of blood
In the self and attributes
Are uncanny secrets
In the sieves of faiths and doubts
Are a thousand cracks
Strange are the cadres of being
Just now, I was wide awake
Groaning in deep pain
Then, how did I drift off?
Just now, I was fast asleep
Then, how did the eyes open?
How did the quilt’s mound lift off?
I don’t know how
the joints dismantled
the mouth broadened back
the fangs crop up
the gaze emblazed
the toes curled back
the spine stretched out
the skin turned into hide
From where this bushy tail sprang up
In the caverns of being,
Where did I vanish, roaring?
I don’t know a thing!
Strange are the cadres of being.
The Sawdust Is Flying
Sparks flicker
In wet eyes
Flashing shadows crawl
In the hallway
The sawdust is flying
An oxygen tube
Affixed to the nostril
Corner of the lip smeared in saliva
Persistent hiccup
Permanent stupor
My present is severed from my absent
How should I tell what happened
Ages ago, our path was the same
In the bag, lunch prepared by mother
Books and satchel
Were the same
In the chinks of rafters
Sparrows dwelled with us
Our chirps were shared
The same clothes from the tailor
The same shoes
We bathed together in the drizzle
When the night came
We listened to the same stories
Water in the pitcher
Under the umbrella of the tree
Star-adorned sky
Aroma from the pot
And the blood in the veins
In short, our dream-world was the same
We were each others’ present and absent
We were twins
There wasn’t any duality
Organs and elements
Chest was joined with the chest
Heart with heart
Forehead with forehead
What to tell
How the spark leapt out of the wire
How the banks abandoned the river
How the thread snapped from the spindle
How the dreams on the headrest were swapped
Which turn the stairs took
What was that luggage
That the heart was ready to dump
But the back would not bend under whose weight
What was that pain
Whose shadows wanted to break free
From the shackles of being and manifestation
What should I tell
Of the fog that covered both sides of the wall
When the time placed us on the iron-plank
And plied the saw
And bisected us
From that day on
The sawdust is flying
From the dried stump
From rafters of the roof
From the books and dreams
The sawdust is flying
My present is severed from my absent
Strange Are The Cadres Of Being
Suddenly, a visage
With a hushed leap
Rushed past the mirror
Black and yellow stripes
Like waves strung together
Suddenly, the dressing table trembled
The clock’s golden reflection shuddered
The body – wrapped in fever – thawed out
In the microcosms of blood
In the self and attributes
Are uncanny secrets
In the sieves of faiths and doubts
Are a thousand cracks
Strange are the cadres of being
Just now, I was wide awake
Groaning in deep pain
Then, how did I drift off?
Just now, I was fast asleep
Then, how did the eyes open?
How did the quilt’s mound lift off?
I don’t know how
the joints dismantled
the mouth broadened back
the fangs crop up
the gaze emblazed
the toes curled back
the spine stretched out
the skin turned into hide
From where this bushy tail sprang up
In the caverns of being,
Where did I vanish, roaring?
I don’t know a thing!
Strange are the cadres of being.