I’m inching closer to the night
Where it isn’t clear
And what separates me from my enemies?
Circumcised light reminds me of what I’ve lost
And night falls on the breasts that I’ve longed for
I search for that nipple in the dark
Grasping at ceramic idols
Milk has spoiled, desire has not.
My body accepts the night.
It bursts out through a rib-cage,
“Lungs have become tar-like wings.”
Spreading red cough to the citizens
Mucus gets everywhere,
Seeping through steel-toed shoes
And behind your ears
The remains of this bottle are left behind
The eye travels upwards, and the smoke disappears
Beyond the dingy scaffolding of the window washers
Nothing is pure
Even the air is tainted,
And my body inches towards the night
It gets closer to its point of origin
Like the fire that was meant to change things
But I’m suffering from immolation
It peels off my skin,
And distracting me with enlightened conversation.
The scalpel and a local dose of Novocain.
And that is why I welcome the night
Its silence is moving
And I capture the gradual descent of stars.
The sea that rages on,
Molding the rocks into images
But it manages to find its way,
To where the night ends
And where I become.
© A.R. Minhas 2017