Alley

Alley

Down the alley like that of the old portion of the city, I find myself lost.

The fakir had said I’ve to keep on walking and take the bends as it comes.

How many bends already taken I didn’t count but I count my time to keep a track

Of the time.

The sound of the ebb tide was heard as I took a turn and I meet him again.

 

Now he’s a sadhu: I recognized  him how, I can’t say exactly, pinpointing the reason; but

It was him I can say surely.

Sitting on a tiger’s skin resting one hand on a trident and another on the knees where a

A small urn was kept wrapped by a snake.

His tangled messed bun is a mountain on his head. He looked at me; his eyes red

Like the setting sun on an autumn sky–clear and prudent. A slime smile played on

His bearded face.

I was going to ask him what’s my future hold, but, before that

He pointed a finger to the sun, visible through the alley like a halogen light hung high

And said, in a faded thunderclap voice,

Write…nothing else…behold the future in your words, in your thoughts…live now…future…

Leave it in the hands of the clock…in the shadow of them…you’re the truth…

You’re the one…others are others…

And he vanishes in a moment in front of my eyes spreading odor of camphor and dhuno.

 

I look at the sun and saw a figure standing with a long shadow; the sound of the tide

Seems to be tick-tocking of a clock.

Something pulls me aside and I found am standing on a vast field with a desk and–

papers.

The words of the hermit echoed around as the shadowy figure engulf me engulfing my

Thoughts.


National Poem Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) 2018: Day#11: One of the prompts suggested by Kwoya Fagin Maples suggests in her interview: a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions “What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”



 

3 responses to “Alley”

  1. Yes. I think writing can take us into our possible futures as surely as it does into our actual pasts. And, it certainly has an effect in helping to mold them. I enjoyed your poem.

    Like

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