There is a plastic car on the merry-go-round last used in the first battle of panipat. Gabbar and handsome, black and white, gallop on this table land charging 50 for a pose. You blink and have a bad ice cream placed in your hands, pay for it and look down at the combed descent down the plateau into the terrace farms which wave with the winds and is a mirror of this way and that. You are where the clouds are made yet you're busy pointing fingers at the camera. Focus on the face and blur everything besides, Krishna* draping herself around civilisation, climbing goats with a tongue for mist, wooden gates of strawberry farm. They tell me it's the portrait mode, i tell them it's selfiesh. The sky is stained methylene blue to observe you under the cosmoscope, you in turn, under 10X, 45X watch water striders striding, vibrio floating. Laugh at being stuck between the small world and the big, smile at the ability to look at both, look, I can't even connect sentences properly, flow down the mountains, turn like the roads here and expect you to keep up and for that, I extend my selfie stick to the length of the universe. Look up and smile, you're always on camera.
~Ajay
9/2/19
*Krishna the river
Note- On a recent trip to Panchgani, a plateau between five hills of the sahyadri range.
YOU ARE READING
seaboyman ~ poetry
Poetry~ is that not the perfect visual image of life and death / a fish flapping on the carpet and a fish not flapping on the carpet ~
