don’t stay

dionbefore-the-dusk-e1386273531465
the lights go off in the section where
dusk meets the dark tidings of time
– limitless, engorged, stagnant –
whites to become whole at
this juncture of hope,
where no one stays
when shutters
have closed
down.

don’t
stay now
either, since
my unslept dreams
resound in emptied-
out hollows of the mind —
all that was sought, to be lost,
has been found at a decried end,
where staying is no longer in need.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

For With Real Toads’ Fussy Little Forms, where Nonets are the order of the day
Image source (Before the Dusk by Dana Dion)

***

I have been working on a new Insta handle for over a month now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

r.e.m.

tumblr_pde6i6jbff1vl51hqo1_500

         “Was it a vision, or a waking dream?               
         Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?”
—Ode to a Nightingale, John Keats

~

torn and subdued – acrid, violet ink
tapered at the edges, and squirming
against the onslaught of thoughts —

candles smoldering without a care,
the pale wax marooned on my palms,
i oversee the languid conciliation of

dreams, en route to an acrimonious
sleep — the undying tides are defiantly
restless in slighted visions, as i deign

to shut the doors of cognition, with
everyone aboard – sans all those lost
voices – departing from the ramparts

of my mirrored insanity —

.

Image source: Hypnagogic Monument, Salvador Dali

A slight conundrum: the title, the image, and the quoted lines refer to different stages—so I have decided to be unmindful of that.
Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads.

***

I have been working on a new Insta handle for over a month now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

Dripping: A 3 Sentence Story

The aged man was resting in the shade of the peepal tree on a hot and humid afternoon, when a sparrow maneuvered into the thick green branches, rustling the leaves in the otherwise silent atmosphere. The tired man didn’t notice the arrival of the newcomer. He just stroked his fingers over his cheeks where the bird’s dripping fell down over him, in his sleep.

* Written in response of the Trifextra Challenge.

The Evil

The evil stands up when I stand

It sleeps beside me on the bed

It is there when I eat

And also when I try to read and write

I feel its presence-

A chill descends upon my body

And my soul craves to run there and then

But I am lost

I want that evil to stand up when I stand

To sleep beside me on the bed

Be there when I eat

Also when I read and write

I want its presence around me

Because that evil is no one but me.

That evil is no one but me

Me being responsible for my deeds

I hurt myself

I kick myself in the shins

That evil is no one but me

That evil is no one but me…

That evil is no one but me

I am the one who deals with me

 I am the one who is my worst enemy

I am responsible for everything 

Everything, everything, everything

That evil is no one but me…

I do not know

who I am

anymore

I struggle to see

myself within

me

I do not know

who I am

anymore

I can’t find

myself

anymore.