of waiting

naked. i sit in the bathroom, waiting for my needs to dry and shrivel so that I can take control of my breath again and proceed with my shower. listening to Cyndi Lauper, i wait. i am merging with my immediate emptiness. yet, I keep on waiting…

waiting for things to normalise back to their abnormality. waiting for that dairy milk cake to rise and collapse and harden and soften with time. waiting for ice cubes to melt and burn my tongue further and blister. waiting for the pain to recede and waiting for it to come back. waiting for the silence before the scream to extinguish itself and waiting for the impending scream to crack open the earth. waiting for the food to pass the intestinal tract and waiting for the next unsatisfactory meal.

waiting for the room to start becoming my skin and enclosing my wronged limbs and waiting for it to break me to nothing. waiting for the world to open a star-shaped space for me and fill me with moonlight. waiting for my heart to collapse beneath the weight of my consuming world. waiting for the hunchback sky to turn into that particular hibiscus-red and fall down on me. waiting for the heat to penetrate my shadow skull and open flowerless graves within. waiting for a song that would escape my lips and take my voice and bury it into the ploughed riverbed. waiting to be kissed by a nightmare and fucked by an inconsequential god.

waiting for the wait to end.

.
© Anmol Arora

Image source (Tyeb Mehta (b. 1925) Diagonal Series signed and dated ‘Tyeb 76’ (on reverse) oil on canvas 44 x 35 in. (111.8 x 90.2 cm.))

 

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water

his music trickled down my spine,

like water, it registered my thirst
for something new, for something

i forgot i could feel — in a circular
exhale of his smile, i smiled too, and
resting my feet, i waited for more.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

Another one for Fussy Little Forms at With Real Toads. Cherita is a three-stanza poem, of one, two, and three lines respectively; it generally tells a story and was created by the UK poet and artist, ai li.
Image source (Let A Smile be Your Umbrella by davisbrotherlylove.com)

line-break

a line breaks from a poem,
worded in the waning wonder of
a vanquished want,

runs through my palm,
resting against the hollow of
my ache — controlled —

measuring ounces of comfort,
harbouring

my nights in an oblivion-obvious pause…

…picking up the pace,
keeping on.

.
© Anmol Arora 2018

For dVerse Quadrille
Image source (The Pause of Unknowingness by Dan Crossley)

***

For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

she sat on the creek’s bank

she sat on the creek’s bank

waiting for

the time to come by

whence

she could open her hair braid,

put away those restraining ornaments

and

dissolve in the waters

and flow away

to meet her destiny,

to meet

her cay.

After writing this piece, I came up with an alternate version which is like this:-

she sat on the creek’s bank

waiting for

the time to come by

whence

she could reach out the distance,

immerse herself in the waters

and

dissolve away those fears

and fly away

to meet her destiny,

to find

her way.

Note:- For those of you who do not know, I have published my first poetry collection, which is completely free of cost. You can find the pdf version here-

The fragrance of the pouring rain

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