the man sitting next to me on the bus is talking to himself -
his gaze tethered to questions in search of their entwife answers.
at first, of course, I think he's crazy, turning away when he shuffles.
when he grunts my ass lifts off & then aborts mission. after a while,
though, my ass is firmly down. I listen, catching words like fish
in a river of one - pogathey [ போகாதே ] don't go - & I suddenly think
of atoms interacting like jellyfish kissing electric - fate as an octopus,
a planet in a hand - the lattice of limbs hurling mars at saturn,
the sound of collision voicing each syllable. on most days I stand,
looking around - guy in a man-bun biting his lip watching a tiktok video
& then shaking his head. a pink-striped boy of six-something smiling
at the next guy playing a PubG rip-off. I'm watching him watch him,
an old man yelling for his four rupees watches me. we watch each other
watching each other. but on that day I sat next to the man [ போகாதே ]
talking to himself, ready with his bus-pass even before the conductor asks.
the authority of his conversation, only waiting for small answers with
mature nods. I got off, eyeing the empty seat, no one rushing to it, as if
I had left behind something sacred [ போகாதே ] & everyone has faith in me.
~Ajay
20/11/2019
YOU ARE READING
bliss station ~ poetry
Poezja~ where is your bliss station / you have to try to find it ~
