Blankness


Saw it today morning 
Staring at me from a newspaper
From within the frilled photo frame
Of a nineteenth death anniversary.

It was dripping along
The footpath of an abandoned love
You and I didn’t notice
The counter was out of service.

The old granny
roaming at the market place
Had it etched
In her vegetable stained
Crumpled antique fingers.

I once saw it
In a street corner beauty
disguised as her painted lips
Lingering along her cream chest wallet.

Later it was oozing out
Of a mutilated womb
In the land of empty cradles
and no nonsense walking sticks.

It flew
to fill the gasp that creek over
The hill top old age home compound wall

Waiting for a motor turning right
from around the pine line
It was smashed in between
Dry old fingers and window rails.

It cries out from the tiny tummy
That leans to see a rice grain growing
Boiling deep down the empty pot.
Carnival rhythms of plain tap water.

Again and forever…
It’s stitched, darned and bleached over
The torn petticoats of little angels
Squeezed for pleasure and ripped for ecstasy.

Let’s go watch it,
Along narrow streets
Smelling of coal under half lit moon,
Among children of heaven swept over garbage pits.

I too had a slice of it
In a classroom measuring of odds and evens
When the knowledge hit ceiling
Crumbled over my tiffin box.

I looked the abstract dictionary
To graph these bare 'Its' out
The pages were blank
White as wiped out memory.

Language dissolved
Gazes drained
Thoughts suspended
Feelings wrinkled.

Is it then 


what we call


blankness!!

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