Hiya Mukherjee |
|
MONSOON DREAMS IN KOLKATA
You do not get to know
How deep is the plastic we're in
Unless it rains out here.
Which, of course, is
Whammy and Wondrous
At the same time
In all it's rarity.
Quite like the fact that
Out here, I am simultaneously
Craving and refuting
This itchy feeling of syrupy nostalgia
That your careless smoke rings
Tend to inflict on me.
You being you,
A cliched bespectacled bastard
With an intangible sense of humor
And questionable moral choices,
Were always so darn hard to ingest,
To keep interlocked inside
Those shadowy panels of
My dysfunctional hypothalamus.
As for my part,
I'm learning to consume plastic
In sly secrecy.
Those undying hues of
Late capitalist paradigm.
I'm slowly learning my ways
Of keeping things inside of me,
Intact and Imperishable.
I’m slowly learning my ways
Around your central nervous system
Just to engulf those bloody smoke rings...
Pristine in their beauty and bestiality.
You do not get to know
How deep is the mess you're in
Unless I break.
But sweetheart,
The plastics are invisible
And this has been a dry year.
*
You do not get to know
How deep is the plastic we're in
Unless it rains out here.
Which, of course, is
Whammy and Wondrous
At the same time
In all it's rarity.
Quite like the fact that
Out here, I am simultaneously
Craving and refuting
This itchy feeling of syrupy nostalgia
That your careless smoke rings
Tend to inflict on me.
You being you,
A cliched bespectacled bastard
With an intangible sense of humor
And questionable moral choices,
Were always so darn hard to ingest,
To keep interlocked inside
Those shadowy panels of
My dysfunctional hypothalamus.
As for my part,
I'm learning to consume plastic
In sly secrecy.
Those undying hues of
Late capitalist paradigm.
I'm slowly learning my ways
Of keeping things inside of me,
Intact and Imperishable.
I’m slowly learning my ways
Around your central nervous system
Just to engulf those bloody smoke rings...
Pristine in their beauty and bestiality.
You do not get to know
How deep is the mess you're in
Unless I break.
But sweetheart,
The plastics are invisible
And this has been a dry year.
*