16. Nightly Reveries
Stars whiter than bulbs
Skyline at my feet
Arm gasping for breath
Trapped under a stupefied mind
Lost under bored clouds,
Dull crescents and soft flies
The size of peas.
Grins etch on my skin
Like cracks on dried rocks
Picturing vividly
Her eyes blank and bloody
Staring still from the casket
While I leak tears and snot
Accruing sympathy.
17. Free Man
Behold the free man in his glory!
Unshackled from chains of community
That bind him to people petty!
Perched on the podium of culture’s end!
Slave to none spare his own sacred head!
Donning his mortgaged crown like a king!
Commanding himself to pick paths paved
Slogging of his own accord in days
And yelling “fie on slavery” at nights!
Liberated from limbs in service to country! Indebted to his forefathers and banks!
Bled by doctors for his diseases
But wallowing groggy on his wheelchair
As he pleases!
He shall die happy; why wouldn’t he?
18. No Time To Wallow
When the worst of the storm has passed Leaving bones for homes and flesh for vultures
And a land so erased voyagers may ahoy,
It would be unwise to sigh “at last”;
It would be unwise to wallow.
Opportunists will still survive
And capitalists looking to line their purse-strings
What will not live are your tears
When the cruel sun will suck its teeth.
So run or sprint to stand
Devoid your skin from petty sympathy
Pursue, lead or follow till you succeed,
To fill little a life born hollow.
19. Little Charm
Plump as a potter’s pink masterpiece
It crawled in circles—hunting for nothing
Spare the chase itself
Like puppies on a leash.
Aunt Jenna bared wide white teeth.
“Lovely little thing,” her remark to her sister
Words learned from a novel
Or was it a letter?
When sis left, Jenna beheld the black sheep.
Twisting and turning like a tongue
Plucking lost food from gums
Its pudgy palms lifted blocks
Before flinging them at her walls.
When Jenna tossed toys in the sack
It bit her and bared moist milk teeth.
Perhaps it knew, and did not like her back.
20. A Lavish Sigh
When four-forked rivers whistle and upend
For your delight
But you silently stare at its invite
From the tallest tower of ivory
In living memory
Like mothers in their child’s casket
Sip Cognac as if it were chimera
And dream if drowning into its bowels
Well-bookended a perfect existence
Then can you truly complain
That society has pelted you with whips
Or held you in disdain?
When living is a chore to decide what to do
Until you die,
When decisions dally between virtue,
Art and avarice
Has life failed you—or are you guilty
Of inflicting it the deference
Of a mere game of dice?
Why so restless in paradise?
P.S. I hid behind the moniker of TINTA since the account was opened on Instagram. Truth be told, this has always been my natural impulse. If I had my way, none of my works would be attributed to me. I write a lot of miserable stuff, which I don’t want attributed to my character. I am proud of my writing, but it is also comfortably the worst of me—where my most cynical, nihilist and antisocial tendencies come to fruit.
For a while, I hoped I could hide behind TINTA forever. Perhaps anonymity is cowardice, but it has always been my impulse. But people tell me there’s nothing sustainable about the moniker strategy—that I must put my name, centralize my content, ensure I take credit for everything in a brutal industry, blah blah blah.
So, briefly, let me introduce myself: I am Neil Nagwekar from Mumbai, India.
I don’t plan on abandoning the moniker TINTA though. Because there is a story behind TINTA, and I think it will take quite some time for it to be completed.
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