a humble crime

tiring days, restless nights

but we don’t look back, do we?

 

oh! to have oblivion again

not this symphony of pleasure and pain

 

a cesspit, a man in the shadow

a storm and a whimper

a disaster past, another brewing

terrible, impulsive, brave; silent, wise, a fool

 

we move away

and onward we go

who knows where

but I wish we didn’t.

 

the soft morning light seems harsh

the wisftulness from March

a devious turn on the road

and we didn’t see how we both fell

too frightened to look up

but we might have caught each other.

 

it is too overbearing to think of

there is lump somewhere in my throat

I hate it.

 

dear poets of yore,

I can’t commit it to word as sweetly

but I know what you mean now

you talked of the bittersweet felony

someone stealing your treasured senses

unlocking a dreaded chest

someone committing a crime

I was the victim

I was the perpetrator

I was the punished

I was the punishment.

 

they leave – must they leave?

it is humbling; they can’t bear my presence

but tell me, what am I to do

if I can’t bear it either?

 

an ancient relic.

i remember that it was a dirty beach and the water was more muddy than clear, replete with god-awful floating garbage that visitors saw fit to discard at the seashore.

i remember my disappointment at not having arrived in some Goa-like destination, and my watchful father dragging me back every time i attempted to dash away deeper into the sea.

i remember pointing out a group of little boys swimming without any parental supervision whatsoever to my mother and her sagely informing me that they were local kids who swam in rough waters all their lives.

i remember thinking that she was possibly a little daft because her answer didn’t make an ounce of sense to me, and then cursing myself for all eternity for thinking such a thing.

i remember the cheerful man with the many floating tubes and convincing our parents to let us use them, and i remember enjoying the panic on the mater’s face when she seemed to topple over from her tube.

i remember how my tube was too big for me and my body folded and sank.

i remember being completely submerged with all but my left arm raised above water, feeling as if i were slowly descending into a different world.

i remember that the water was yellow and my legs looked black and tiny bubbles rose up all around me.

i remember being pulled up just as i felt sure i was going to die, and no one exclaiming or even noticing what had happened.

i remember wishing to run back to the car in which we came but getting lost in all the directions even before i had started.

i remember watching scores of people frolicking about the beach as if it was the best tourist-y thing one can possibly do.

 

i do not remember at which point on that day the merry picture with the three dancing sprites was taken, or why, upon encountering that old snapshot, i saw myself looking delightfully engaged with my two playmates.

i do not remember having enjoyed the trip or having felt anything other than constant mild annoyance with everything and everyone.

 

but maybe i only remember what i want to remember, and i’m afflicted with the same human ungratefulness for the stores of memories that i do not care to relive because i feel so justified about my misery.

 

maybe, just maybe, we are all happier than we seem to think we are.

 

the three dancing sprites: the photograph