In Pursuit of a Pattern

Into the fabric
A single thread runs from one edge to the other
How would a lesser mortal know it is such stubborn
When the entire camaraderie has metamorphosed into a drapery?

In the almirah
Soft hands fold and arrange the apparels
Numbers in as twice and thrice as that of body parts
There is only reason in their being: to clothe

When it is time to get out of the closet
It makes sense how we see in the patterns
How it exists all around all along
“Beyond our pathetic myopia
Beyond the blindness
We are only hell bent for chaos,” said no one ever

From the fabric to the end of the universe,
We have seen it but then
We have seen it in war and worldliness as well
We have seen it
We are out of synch
But then again, does it even matter?!

It’s ironical we live in both order and disorder
We might live with the government and without
While the recently formed regime announces its promises
Just like everything will fall into their places
Just like something’s better than nothing.

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Melancholy

How do you cure it
I do not—
I only feel it
I can only force myself to sleep
And only wait for the light, the following dawn
And then when the whole world bask in the glory of the sun
For the want of a suitable word
The dawn has faked
But you cannot fake the burden on your heart
The heaviness in the throat, the silent choking feeling
Even the proverbial tunnel lies beyond a great distance
And all along all you have are words. Bloody words.

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