View from prism: Out to in, Out from in, An Apparition of me

the prism of misconception providing a view

of the lives beyond, my eye lids flutter in sun shine,

I walk, I stand on the roof (still shadows prevail),

a book is in my hand which I carefully tuck in,

within my sweater, a little loose but intact,

so that I could switch on my mind, and record

the videos of hurriedness, I see beneath

down there, in the melee of cars black and red,

and two-wheelers wheezing through the crowd,

finding space where there is not any, (those

opportunists who would find their way always),

but my sight hovers at the window of

the withered building with cracked paint,

shutter down, shades up and one can see naught

but dust swirls measuring the darkness of it,

and just where the heart of the room must be,

I see an apparition, a mist of grey and white

(but it turns out to be a view one can not see,

if one comes out so rare and also bonded

with the smells of mould and dampness,

bellowing from one’s nature and soul)

but that is not to be thought upon,

I am for now enamoured by the strangeness,

I feel, as I retreat back through the crossbars,

under the ceiling which I can not reach,

I dare not and thus looking away, distraction

is my scheme, and that is how I take a peek

outside, from within and it is entirely another thing,

no longer hissing of the slow moving traffic,

no more the view of swiftness of those souls,

always willing to outlast others, and to be outlasted by others,

all I could feel is a sense of relief, after the claustrophobic outside,

(an irony you may not believe but it is so, I am met by it)

now my eyes feast upon the trails of pollution left behind,

under the haze that has enclosed the entire city,

in that prism of opinion and prejudice (and may be of pride),

but there still remains that apparition which I still see,

right in front of me, in yet another window, now that I am inside,

I move my hand to touch it, and it does as well, and we become one,

and now before I freeze myself by the coldness of the stairs,

looming up there, looming down to where I am meant to go,

all it takes is a step to forget the grey and white mist that is me,

to close my eyes and walk through the light, radiating from outside,

still following me, enticing me, but it would soon leave,

as I keep on walking back to the dampness, of days of me

.

I am linking it up with Poetry Jam Prompt Inside-Outside.

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