The wall protects me. Once, it was built on me. by Daipayan Nair

1.

Death! Isn’t that the
smile one smiles

with a bug
on his palm?

Oh shit! Beep…

A thumbprint on the
send button
.
.
beneath the rubble.

2.

Yellow. A bruised
hand holds my chin; makes
me look at her

The glass slides down
an innocence.
Fried Cauliflowers?

I see happiness in its
real brown. I realise, I can only buy it

as I have lost the free.

‘My pillow. In that colony,
above which some
dreams drive by’ she says
.
.
.
Yellow. The bruised hand
holds my chin

‘Sir. Are dreams heavy?’
.
.
.
Green. She seemed so
lighter.

~
Red. Sir, the road’s blocked

There’s a collapsed
flyover.

3.

The Sun is a vodafone
which makes you a globe
in my desk

as my roof calls yours.

‘There is an expectation
in me which expects yours

We both are responsible
as we carry’


Inside, the tv hands me
a car, out of a debris.

I watch the number plate

I watch…

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