smokerings

the water fountain
three stories up is
always exactly
the right temperature you need to cool
the burnt sores on the tip
of your tongue.

outside, again, twenty minutes later this time
in looser pants, in softer slippers
beyond the frosted door
i notice its not so cold,
so cold anymore.
past chokidaar drooping over glowing coals
never stopped to greet him before
and im suddenly
not thinking about anything in particular
anymore
alseep, in the chair,
bent over, sitting there thats not
its not fair, somehow..
past lovers linked in their silent
soft talk, statues of flesh and bone
and if the world had a lover she too would
live on love alone...
devdaas couldve have been so much better, suddenly
aesthetic erotica, romanticised
invaded by alienation-
we're all just stupid painted a shade of wise
we're all just colourblind idiots in disguise
walking out into the not-cold night air
in my chappals, past the people
swimming there
through the haunted stillness of silent rain
past the snores of tired sleepers
the lovers and the gatekeepers
glittering earth, glistening creepers
beneath my heavy step:
my ghost will lead my shadow
across the cobbled floor-
its not so cold,
(i notice)
now,
not so cold
anymore.