vanity. the thought
that knocked every time. romance
seldom held the dock.
childhood scurried past
with morsels of self-consciousness
biting from the future.
and the future? a dark mass of
self-doubt squirming into a mudstone
rolling and rolling
across the years, mustering fears
turning vain. vanity.
suffering. the feeling
always left behind. incessant rains,
paper cuts, plain pain.
acute absences unfurl
tripping down the consciousness
digging seas in nether space.
worlds where windows wouldn’t
open to skies but dark abysses
dimming and dimming
through seasons, failing reasons
into a pyrrhic pit. suffering.
Shakuntala, he asked me to wait
like you waited
for Dushyant*. Were there any
Annas, Catherines, Isabels
Bathshebas or Bovarys**
to remind you of yourself?
of vanities and sufferings?
are you lost?
you must have been innocent
I am not; neither there is a ring
to behold nor any promise.
vanity now sings a sad song
suffering seeks a star.
* Shakuntala and Dushyant are characters from Indian epic Mahabharata.
** Characters from classical literature across the world.
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