Through a crack in the window,
an old window, a decrepit and dirty window,
a hazy beam of sunlight peeps in cautiously.
It keeps a slow and steady time
devoid of mystery and rhyme
and flows languidly between forgotten particles of dust
suspended in the rust of a million random Brownian acrobatics.
Ships, like lost little ships, rudderless on an angry ocean
the dust is moves through time
devoid of mystery and rhyme,
and nothing changes in the dark room.
Croon, hear the silence croon,
in this lost and forgotten room.
Where sunlight peeps in cautiously
to consume all that has ever been
and all that will ever remain.
An insane freedom fills out the dark and heavy air.
Floating without a care for history or time,
devoid of any mystery or rhyme,
Tiyaasha lies stretched supinely on a bed
that rocks in the darkness like a lost little ship.
In an age before creation, did the Gods too feel as restless
as I do now, watching Tiyaasha sleep in a world devoid of time,
full of mystery and rhyme,
and envelop in her slow and steady breathing
the very secret of the universe unfolding
and holding its scattered thoughts for a moment
before all is lost to the swirling dust in the beam of sunlight.
*
1: 18 AM
19th March, 2010
