The Misreading (Of Time) !
As a result of a continuous living,
by Jayanta Oinam
I have learnt the misreading of time
It has indeed helped me understand
The vulgar it carries with the living,
And the breezy lies of time
And the moments that carry the tinged hope
Of bequeathed lives!
But as the misreading goes
Without any comma or semi colon,
This living becomes a thick morass
Of seconds and minutes;
Chiming against the rim of faith,
Just like the time ticking and ticking
Inside the wretched watch of memory
And sometimes swirling inside my body,
The clock that doesn’t tick!
This misreading, with time
Reminds me my brutal romance
With her words
With her ludic expressions;
The nun that she was
Knew how to caress a reflection
Like my own writings
In my heart’s parchment
In colours, garnished like never before
And the texture of her skin
In intimate consummation
It seethed in imperial lust
Seeing my narcissism!
Yes, with time
I have misread her lines
Unable to satisfy the appetites
Whetted by time.
But at times
It’s like an idyllic dream:
My poems falling
On the tin top, clattering
Dripping with words
In some monsoon night
Holding back to myself
Watching her play with raindrops!
It’s only a living.
But it seems
I have gone too far with time
Waiting for that patrician whore
Who once brought me life