I was brushing off the memories of yesterday
over a pause in the afternoon
when I heard a knock on my pillow.
A person I had met once before called from the door.
Greetings were passed. ‘Nothing’ was up and everything ‘usual.’
“Care for some tea?” he asked.
I wished the room would scream and hound him away.
I watched as my room turned around, looked past me with sympathy. I waited.
The brew was ready. It was twenty minutes past five, still groggy.
We sipped, danced, and stumbled through words, like notes of a symphony
An hour later, we had talked about everything. ‘Nothing’ was up
and everything ‘usual.’
I slept dreamlessly that night.
My mind quiet, emptied like a cup of tea
Prateek Joshi is a medical graduate from University College of Medical Sciences, New Delhi. He moves between words and their impractical aspects only to find himself stranded, placid only when poetry transfigures peculiarities between the pauses of breath. A dash into the obscure favors him, pushing for more into life, apparent and unmistakable. He works in his mushroom-broccoli farm besides losing himself to writing poems. His second book, tentatively titled ‘Arc Asylum’ will release in April this year.
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