GO INTO THE CREVICE
Go
into the crevice
and
find the friend who
comes
out with his
last
words
and
rotten tracks
through
time.
He
has the last portion
of
his birthday cake
left
for you
and
his mother carries
an
eternal side-eye
&
calls your home- 'small'.
Where
do you go to
or
look back from
if
he
is a
darkling
who
calls
for
your invisibility
on
the forums?
He,
with
the beast of hauteur
and
his mother's fallacious pride,
as
spots around his body.
You
only look at your own spot
as a
starling
on
an abandoned nest.
****
Real
dispossession
is
to know
that
he could question your
place
&
make amity's natural affections
grievances.
It
was easy
for
him to dethrone
his
privileges
for
affected weekends
&
refuse to offer you
a
seat of trust.
***
Hello
Mother,
you
have read through
the
years
the
obligatory side-eyes
you
had given out
like
societal circulars
when
I failed to obtain
a
seat at the table.
No,
it
was yours.
Your
son
refrained
from
bringing
a
dreamer and survivor's
flowers
for your golden vases
there.
So
he
gave me a farewell
through
an obligatory invitation
at
the cinema
and
I finally said 'no'
to
the arrangement,
bowdlerizing
a
grand estimation
for
both your places
in
the city.
***
We
were children
and
I was the youngest
of
all.
How
do you meet
my
gaze now?
To
make your son's
disappearance
graver
than
it was
for
all those years past.
***
Go
into the crevice,
mother,
maybe
he's
hiding
there
with
the flakes
of
ants' storehouses,
keen
to pick one cover
of
naivete
or
innocence
to
make me an
overcoat
with.
He
awaits
to
meet me
at
the school auditorium
where
we once beheld
the
sun of our youth
through
greater
terrains
than
this future
or
your disapproval(s)
*****
Go
into the crevice.
Go
into the crevices.
You
may find us there.
DYING
BREED
Words
can come from oracles,
like
sirens ringing out of wooden floors
while
mother waits patiently over the threshold,
eager
for the plane ticket in his palms.
Words
come from motormouths,
gaping
wide at the valley
till
the altar of adulthood reveals
a
mountain peak
and
the same sirens
produce
squirts of anxiety about the future.
Words
left over
as
the final call on the summit.
He
picks up tatters left as clothes,
chopped
blocks of wood
as
dying sacraments of the migrant's pursuit
and
puts curved stones
on
the nape of his neck
to
ensure tunnels
don't
enter the wound there.
To
go away,
leave
at the earliest,
is
the command.
But
he holds himself vigorously,
stubborn
as a mule
and
sacrosanct as a child,
by
the scruff of a green soul,
veins
blue as those embroidered
suits
kept away,
their
soft departures unbecoming
for
those strange climes
he's
banished to.
An
eventual exile affronting his constituency back home.
The
words are cruel stipends to him,
repaid
with mere confrontations
and
a yellowed, soured disposition,
like
a drowning body
recovered
from deep down the lakes
where
alligators await their fodder.
Say
anything.
Only
don't cry out,
'He's
one from a dying breed'
'He's
one from a dying breed'
now
rings like sirens
from
oracles passed down
as
the family tree.
Prithvijeet Sinha - The writer's name is Prithvijeet Sinha from Lucknow, India. He is a post graduate in MPhil from the University of Lucknow, having launched his prolific writing career by self publishing on the worldwide community Wattpad since 2015 and on his WordPress blog An Awadh Boy's Panorama
(https://anawadhboyspanorama.wordpress.com/)
Besides that, his works have been published in several varied publications as FemAsia Magazine, Hudson Valley Writers Guild, Inklette Magazine, Piker Press Online, anthology Pixie Dust and All Things Magical published by Authors Press( January, 2022), Cafe Dissensus, The Medley, Screen Queens, Confluence- South Asian Perspectives, Reader's Digest, Borderless Journal, Lothlorien Poetry, Live Wire, Rhetorica Quarterly, Ekphrastic Review, The Kolkata Arts, Aze Journal, Dreich Magazine, Visual Verse, In Plainspeak and in the children's anthology Nursery Rhymes and Children's Poems From Around The World ( AuthorsPress, February 2021) as well as Soul Spaces( AuthorsPress, 2023)among others.
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