Mihir Chitre \ Winter 2015
* Overgrown The entropy of a system Increases with time, says the second Law of thermodynamics. The older you grow, the more The disorder within you. I remember batting for many hours As if each ball I faced was my first And, simultaneously, the last. Moments of brilliance storming out of the pistol Of those freewheeling noons. Even a miscued Loft would sometimes go for six. Litres of cola Splattered on cotton evenings. There was fantasy in sitting on the bench Waiting for seven O'clock to never arrive. Akshay Kumar roundhouse-kicking His way through Khiladiyon Ka Khiladi. Our future sprawling against us Like light from a rising sun, everything Being what-is-supposed-to-be Before the advance of a fated loss. Heads you win; tails you win Yet the stubborn calling of the toss. * |
Mihir hates half measures. When he loves, he loves; when he disconnects, he disconnects.
He is the author of Hyphenated, a poetry collection published by Sahitya Akademi in 2014. |