Saturday was meant to be boring.
Then a Mansion appeared.
View of the lake, and the buzzing of sea creatures. The lights of the city drown out the loneliness.
We talk about UFOs and an apple falls.
Bare feet, we play like we did as children.
The coarseness of the road, the calluses remind you of life.
Backyard, or a Grecian garden.
In the cover of Cedars we play with Arrows.
You always miss the point.
“I want to feel the sharpness of the wet grass, I’m on Earth after all.”
The blueness of the swimming pool.
Heated foam rises up as I see images of a black hole.
My box contains Tarot cards and Lady Pink Kush.
She fills my belly up with dreams and warm feelings.
The end of a beer bottle, stuffed with cigarette butts and dreams of ash.
I see bodies of my friends floating.
I’m here for you always but you needed something that I couldn’t provide– A conversation. The right words, in the right order and at the right time.
But how can I help you? I’m an island.
Like you I’m lost. Swimming in absurdity.
The sun judges me for observing my friends like objects in a Petri dish of literary experiments. It marks me as a war-criminal like I am.
I’m like this empty beer bottle stuffed with cigarette butts and dreams of ash.
And I can only provide you with more nihilism.
So let’s float here in salt-water laced with chlorine.
And not do anything today.
(C) A.R. Minhas 2019
