I have never written a spoken word poem,
So let me make one up now.
But is this the now?
Or is the now somewhere in the past,
Where all the nows of eternity accumulate as ghosts
and take a Sauna Bath?
They never tell me anything!
Or I might be lying.
I might know exactly where the nows go,
Where tomorrow waits in irritated anticipation,
Where Flying promises hover,
Where forgotten yesterdays weep,
Where the forevers and the always hug it out in mistaken loneliness,
Where hopes go to die,
And where unfulfilled expectations look for closure under feeble torchlights!
I might have seen the walls that hide our sorrows and our smiles,
Knocked uncertainly on closed lips to peek inside and decipher the secrets of eternity…
Pursed lips failed to open,
And Krishna’s secret universe remained a fable.
See i am speaking without necessarily looking at a white page with scribbled words as interruptions which are hard to decipher from that seat which your butts have claimed as their own!
I might not have a page, a paper, a sheet, a copy or even a phone or a tab!
I might be speaking slowly, savouring each mispronounced word.
Or very very fast,
Eluding proper comprehension.
You don’t know me,
Don’t know how well i lie,
Because all poems lie;
Just very honestly!
That is why all poems are lies,
But all lies, well…. (smiles)
Are you following me?
Are you falling and rising with my words as they traverse the vacuum of this room in strides,
Prancing in and out of your ears, eyes, nose, mouth and bored consciousness-
Tasting delicious thoughts that were never meant to be?
Does my lie of a poem;
Meaningless, now and forever,
Penetrate your curly organ?
Does it move in and out of time’s contraptions,
becoming your past, in this presence, to be remembered in a distant future over a cup of forcefully Irish Coffee, and the nth rerun of F.R.I.E.N.D.S?
Does my poem visit your nows and forevers,
Reminiscing a ‘then’ which is as much a lie as the meaning of this poem?
If I end the poem ‘now’
Without an attempt to explain anything,
Would it explain everything?
Or would that be a lie
That would join the ‘whys’ at the edge of eternity under an umbrella shaped out of question marks?