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AISHWARYA IYER
preElegy

Plummet from the sky
Blue, green and lithe
Like a surreal shivering kite
Carrying my night sleep

In this growing ministry of bags,
Holes, drawers and shelves
A numb darkness
Has slipped into my head

I sang syllables of morning
Tight lipped round
Rolling over the sky
Breaking into noon

This little egg-dream of myself
(only myself)
Has spurt shadows on the wall
The imaginary lanugo shapes in
A growing cancerous womb
Reclining
Under the wall's seepage skin

I saw these walls swell
Redden and hold me
From every angle
In a locked web of perceptions
Caught inside my thought

Somehow when the moon
Slips out of the plate of evening
The fear of getting bleached by
Night
Hangs lone in the twinkle of stars

I filled the gaps in spaces
On the terrace floor
Broken clinking tiles of soul
In a run of breathless heartbeat
Rimmed by warm blood
Salting its edges in sweat
This mist of breath
Staining my eyes
My lone forest of mind
Strewn with misplaced seashells
and grinning sand grains
Carved in blood with strange stories

But suddenly with this suitcase of vigour
In your thighs
And will stitched into your palm-lines
Thought absconds into the sauce of moisture
I have nowhere to go
Old refrigerated pasta of memories
Lying in the dustbin
Will fly tomorrow with the wind
To the garbage abode
Sliced with sugar, salt, pepper, mayonnaise smells

And if you hear my voice
Hurtling from the stars
Think some miracle happened this night
That though I would forget to sleep
And sleep would forget to come
We both remembered
Suddenly
In a synchronic bout of chance elasticity
For ever.