Jahangir Chowk.
Long-standing traffic lights.
Red, I stop and ruminate.
Yellow, I make my mind.
Green, I decide to move on….
But then,
It was December,
The month of accidents.
I was hit in Green zone
And wasn’t able to move an inch.
Trapped in a din.
Perhaps forever.
Crowd. Honking. Pell-mell.
It all magnifies resonance
of a shocking minutiae.
Lifeless souls never stop.
I feel roads are choked.
The diversions are demonic.
and connections convoluted.
I only spot startling juxtapositions–
Protracted problems.
Intricate interplays.
Complicated commonness.
It is what it is.
My departed time in 2022.
My grief.
My memory.
My remorse.
My moment.
It is as it is with many.
It is real but rarely talked.
Is censur so deep?
Is connect so criminal?
Leaving us dreadfully drenched
and yet pitifully parched.
My search is in vain.
They call it ‘existential duality’.
Oh, really?
What about limitless infinite?
The unsaid word?
The undiscovered mystery?
The undreamed reality?
Yes, the frivolous inveigles.
Wrestling the seasons
of shade and shine
glee and grief,
Time trembles, gasps.
I am told it’s over!
As always.
Jahangir praised us.
He visited us.
Left a mark.
But
Accidents of history
don’t cease.
We suspend
the suspension of reality.
And persist
the paradox of pain.
We. Yes, we!
We’ll begin 2023 —
Try rebuilding our smashed empires.
Collect the debris
and go inside the ruins.
Looking for some bits of us,
some tattered tales
and pitiless promises.
They call Jahangir a ‘heartless ruler’!
Was he unpitying?
Was he unforgiving?
Whatever, he wasn’t unfeeling!
Our Jahangir Chowk is unflustered,
It’s full of frenzy.
No matter who crosses
Or who gets crushed.
The junction has just passages,
and 2023 is just a voyaging number
Ala shifting number plates…!