Transition by Minu Jasdanwala

Transition

Minu Jasdanwala




This is a transition,
something between wakeful and wakeless.

I can hear the tap water drops dance
on the plastic bucket floor.
Drop...drop... drop...
incessantly.

The family is talking
but I cannot understand,
despite their language
is my very own.

I can also feel the dull fan above
and the soft hot bed below.
Also, the buzzing aspiring mosquito.

I perceive things; though vaguely
on this side of transition.
I am also certain to see
the images-in- waiting
on the other side of it.

My eye lashes are slowly slowly settling
on dark sunken eye pools of mine-
as some descriptive poet would say.

I see everything with fine detail
simply with shut down eyes.
Miracle, isn't it!

There is a world below my
played out eyes.
I get afraid of heights, water,
swings, shame, rebuke and remarks.

I see a frail and a skinny boy,
he is me from the past,
unhurried and indifferent.
I see I am late for the test,
aslo unprepared.

Then as I grow old,
I am a depressed hopeless young man.

Crowded dreams are beautifully dangerous.
My own sense feels the touch on my head
and scratch on the pillow.
I step the line,
everything blows out.