father's almirah

father's almirah

i overhaul father's almirah
for bhogi..
outside our doors ,
the world is busy burning the old..

from crumbling yellow pages 
of the forgotten books,
i hear voices...

down the heaps of decades,
somewhere, pushkin is cleaning his musket for the last duel
dostoevsky's hero is fluttering in the spiderwebs of endless guilt..


would dad have read this book
or is it a souvenir for the friendship
dirtied by a betrayal unforgettable..
who could it be, the man on the first page..

in the warm footprints of a white night
trails a chain of love stories..
i search for words that would be double entendres..
that father would have inherited from russian loverbpys..

these words coalesce like drops of mercury
creating a new story..
perhaps a new family..
new unborn children..

i am searching for the youth in dad's eyes..
he is lost in the hue and cry of the festival

i come across noisy hostel nights
as father moved his magical chess pieces
and rebellious accountancy class rooms ..

i stumble upon a greeting card
and a small postcard wishing him well
in illegible handwriting..
mine....

i look back,
in the centre of that ethereal room sits the father..
his eyes closed in expectant meditation..

time then started its bellicose laughter ..

Reviews

[.]

. beautifully written ... poignant ... but gloomy ... very gloomy ... it is up to you to give a new hue to the residue of that legacy ... sinking is easier than swimming but swimming is better ...

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[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

super surreal imagery in a brocade of detailed emotive nuances~