The other day,
I disliked the monologue from my favorite film.
Yesterday,
my mother's tongue rained words of compassion,
and I don't know why I almost hated them.
These days,
my plane doesn't roam around the universes of songs,
especially the songs I can derive the meaning from.
They pass by & smell like discomfort, the lyrics which I understand,
they are suspected of witchcraft.
The languages in which I think,
have started to bomb my neural tombstones.
No wonder why the letters in my poems look distorted,
and wear the semblance of thingness.
Today, when the sun roars,
the train howls,
crickets palaver &
a dog sings in its foreign vocabulary;
this hubbub doesn't bother me.
But,
now I'm afraid of flying towards the sun for research or
asking the insects what they've been gossiping about.
I don't let that dog lick my brain to nourish it with sense,
I'm already tired of running behind a mirage, that denotation of survival.
About the poet:
Yogesh is a 23 years old writer who strongly believes in Shakespeare's 'what's in the name?’ phrase unless that name is written under the poem. A student of technology, though, he is often found strolling around the ruins at sunset and framing poesies. He revels in expressing himself through words, and love for cinema. His work usually dwells upon his inner turmoils and relative frailties of the world. Follow him on Instagram @ink._.stained
About the artist:
Namrata Narendra is an architect and illustrator. Her interests lie in socio-cultural interfaces of cities and communities. She captures her questions and inclinations dealing with human behaviour
and politics through mediums of poetry, mapping and sketches on her blog.