The last day of eternity

by Tanuj Solanki

At
midnight tomorrow,
I’ll bloom.

Rushdie
will like it,
for I too will become a child of some midnight,
born
again,
fragment by fragment second by second,
in
the clay I have myself prepared;
Maybe I will paste my flakes
back,
(tears shed, and sighs let,
become invisible
glue
for tatters of the heart)

Pamuk
will like it too,
for I will become a lover suddenly in
possession,
like Ka, or Black,
plunged into
happiness after solitude,
(just as Kafka’s country doctor
reaches the dying boy in an instant)
hyper-charged, yet a
slave of emotive inaction
(one doesn’t act in love, one is
acted on;
driven by the status-quo, driven to the status-quo,
not
the end, never the end, there is no end)

Tomorrow
is the last day of eternity folks,

the last day of implosions of
the heart,
the last day of looking at this city rush through a
taxi window each morning and disappear,
the last day of
looking in the mirror to create memories,
the last day of
groping the air in sleep,
the last day of zombie-ness,
the
last day of longing.

At midnight tomorrow,
when
I see her with these pupils
(why are they wet again?)
I’ll
bloom.

* * * * *

(c) 2010 Tanuj Solankki
used by permission

Tanuj Solankki is a blogger and poet in India
as well as an MBA graduate of IIM Ahmedabad

For more, please visit his blog at
http://www.dotcommedtanuj.blogspot.com

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