STORYLINE

I must write a dream out of my
System, a dystopian fantasy,
Where I was running away from something
On a rainy night, stumbling over wet rocks...
When a truck runs over a sleeping baby,
Punches a hole in his heart;
And the mother and I rush to a doctor
Where the baby cries twice, then closes
His eyes, turns red-faced and dies.
I take the dead baby from the doctor
And cradle him in my arms, and
Hold him to my bosom.
The dream clings to me
Like a crying child clinging
To its mom, or wet mud
Clinging to a little boy's shirt.
I wonder if it has anything
To do with a flowery spring morning
Thirteen years ago when bright blood
Ran down my legs like
Scarlet floral motifs...
And I am made
To watch several adaptations
Of the same storyline without
Paying for a ticket. All I want
Is to run away, stumbling over wet rocks
On a rainy night.

Jagari Mukherjee
Publicado en RavenCageZine30