the prose of vikramjeet sinha

How often do you think you are beautiful
How often do you tangle your hair in a life long ivy,
Twining with each other in mangled thoughts
How often do you turn your pencil in your index thumb and stare out at a cloud
From the corner o your eye
How often do you roll your thoughts and smoke out the air curling away
How often do you drift away in a blue haze
How often do you cry in a muffled way
In a cold motionless way,
How often do you erase all that comes across ,
Nothing remains ,but dots in horizons and a wind filled rush to fly
Through the swinging doors
Through the strings of birds streaking across the velvet red sky
How often do you then wish you could stand on that edge
And simply let go and
Fly.

slipped in between the alleys
You scaled down the walls
When the world was getting washed in red and purple
Floated in the middle of it all,
there was a sharp cry,
unnoticed by all,
invisible ,muffled ,mute and in all of it there was that which made sense,

Stirring the stillness,
A dull cry, a motionless riddle, a parable untold
Waiting, dribbling from the mumble of words,
In a system of lines,
That dart in and out scratching the surface
You in the quietness of it all
Emerged
While I waited.