my world collapses every now and then
in the middle of an afternoon
under an indolent sun
when the air doesn’t move
and the fan’s whir is a reminder
of a thousand other worlds
in a million different snapshots of time
that linger as languid as the mid year sun
minstrels of all my worlds
that did sooner or later coalesce and cease

the earth turns inexorable, programmed
i am time’s magnet, how can it escape
now it races, now it tiptoes and then holds back,
but come to me it must and collide and possess and
cover my limbs and my eyelids and earlobes and
shoulder blades with its touch and its breath and
inherent transience, ineluctable death
for a moment or forever we dance
the sun steals by to catch a glimpse,
the fan whirs
a million different snapshots of time
worlds come into being and collapse
every now and then


indrani’s index