Friday, June 6, 2008


Too close to the truth, tantalizing from afar
The throbbing of this migrane
Won’t need a rest as I…
Pull the lever of the subway train,
I need to rear my aching head…
Above the surface.
I need to know.
How the earthquake appears…
From up there.

As the metal snake came to a screeching halt,
My face fell glued to the pane,
I sing lullabies to myself,
To herald my guilt in my pain…
To have a reason to hate…
My own clustered self.
I had to know…
Beyond my own face…
There, out there.

No matter what we say,
Or how adapted we seem,
We’ve always taken nauseated steps,
Many of them, back,
As blood ,spilt from the throat of a rat,
Extinguished under the subway train,
Inched towards our feet,
Slowly…against gravity.

Its nature against knowledge,
The centre against edge,
I don’t want to live in ignorance,
Let me rear my throbbing head.

Somewhere faraway,
In the middle of a busy street,
A head appeared from a pit hole
Looked bothways,before…
It was isolated from its body
By more than one car…
Yes, cars-the evolved compartments
Of outdated trains, once isolated…
To remain forever that way…
Can we survive this way?

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