And though my face,
be it smiling,
presents an air of control,
I fear that I have lost it all.

And I brace myself,
for I predict that I will be buried
beneath the rubble,
beneath this teetering construct
that I have haphazardly built in my short,
short,
life.

And I have tried,
I have tried to forget that I built
this homeless house of mine.

And I have thrived,
I have thrived in my ignorance
once upon too many times,

and I shudder at the thought
that the "all" which I am destined to lose,
is really nothing.

Nothing at all.

i told you i loved you
my voice faltered in the absence of light
the words fell out of my mouth
ungraceful and ugly as ever
it is no wonder your touch went cold
the silence you chose not to sever
your reply was infested with mold
the distance grew and my chest sunk
"that's sweet of you, but i'm just too drunk"
and in that moment i knew
that i was wrong, i do not love you
not at all

when is a work of art not just a work of art?

at what point does it stop
being only a thing of beauty
and transform-
the self
the society
the Universe
                                                                when does it transcend the real
                                                                and become something magical
                                                               helping one fall through –
                                                               the rabbit hole
                                                                the wormhole
                                                                the black hole
                                                                                                                                      when does it become
                                                                                                                                     an unstoppable force
                                                                                                                                     and cause –
                                                                                                                                     a revolution
                                                                                                                                     an evolution
                                                                                                                                     an absolution


                              and at which moment does  it make you stop in your tracks
                                                          stop breathing and exclaim
                            “Gar Firdaus, ruhe zamin, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast!”

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   05.01.2013
  Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish,