Nirmal Tower, 26/27, Barakhamba Road

For the many visions
arrived at through
glass skies,
for the friction of
intent footsteps and
curt glances,
for the echoes of
jostling numbers on
rustling sheets,
for the imprints of fresh
black ink on
twiddling thumbs,
for the many souls
that have lost themselves
in my hallowed hollowed
skeletal being,
for the many sins
that have transpired,
for the plots conspired,
I stand here, but
a sad ghost of a
ringing past.
You may hack at
my pride, leave me
grey, maimed, naked.
but you cannot have
me crumbling, for
in the shambles will die
all your concentrated
dreams, lies, empires.
So when your warring words
become redundant,
weed me up,
air me out,
i’ll be right here,
ready-to-use again.


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