The clock and the black hole

I have a black hole and its name is X!

 

The night of 28 April, 2017 was spent walking from the living room where the body lay to the master bedroom where I was asked to get some rest. Much like today, every time I saw the watch the hands seemed to be getting slower and more sluggish with each passing moment. Time had become lazy.

Tick tock, tiicckk toocckk, ttiiiccckkk ttoooccckkk,….

It went on and on. The sun seemed to be taking an extended lunch break and the moon seemed quite happy and reluctant to move from where it was.

Sometimes I wonder what I thought then, at that very slowly passing moment. But all I remember is the clock and it’s hand. The rest is blank.

It is 1:40 am, 17 June, 2017. The clock has stopped. I wonder what it could be that made it stop. The battery? The temperature, global warming, apocalypse or just grief?

Maybe not grief. Maybe just a big slice of blank, emotionless space that has dominated my mind off late. Maybe it is the black hole. Maybe it is post traumatic stress. Maybe shock, maybe denial, or maybe nothing.

I asked the ether a question today, a quite serious one and quite seriously too,- what does death mean to the person who hasn’t died?

The ether remained silent. I asked again, and again, and again till my ears became deaf with the silence.

Then I had a sip of my whisky and I turned within and I questioned. The black hole told me- go to sleep, you don’t want to know.

I took another sip and I asked again. This time the answer came louder- Go sleep you moron. You do NOT want to know.

A third sip and the same question lead to a louder, much filthy version of the same answer.

Many sips and same questions later the answer was weaker, quieter- it means grief.

What does that mean?- I asked again.

Look in the mirror. What do you see?- the answer challenged.

I did as I was asked. I saw nothing. There was emptiness where I should have been.

I still don’t get it and I hope at least a minute has passed since!

The clock is still stuck at 1:40 am. I am not too sure of the date and day. All I know is- I need another glass and then hopefully I can sleep!

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I have you.

There has been a poem lurking deep inside me;

Waiting to out into the world.

But somehow my fragile heart

Made me swallow them words back.

But today I made a choice to speak;

To write as I please without a care

Of who, what, where.

After all my words are all I got my dear.

After three years and seven days,

I am back to the city;

To our city

And to you.

After three years and seven days,

I breathed the smell of you again:

In the smell of the rotting garbage

Waiting to be picked by rotting hands;

In the fragrance of the whore houses

Waiting to be explored by equally fragrant men;

In the rubbles of cement

That promise to build a world which will never come to pass.

After three years and seven days,

I walked with you hand in hand again:

On the roads near the coffee shop

In which we first met;

Where you told me my eyes were a dream

You wished to keep dreaming till the end of days;

On the road near the shady bar

Where you first held me like a child;

On the road near the graveyard

Where we went to visit your mother’s grave

And you told me stories you had told none.

After three years and seven days,

I saw you again:

In the slow chaos of the trams

Which waddled on like disoriented schoolboys in the morn;

In the vastness of the ocean

Which reminded me of the unsolved mystery of you;

In the smiles of the street kids

Which was as pure as the day I said yes.

After three years and seven days,

I tasted you again:

In the tea of the hawker

You enjoyed so much because you said it was plain honest;

In the fudge brownie of a certain place

Which you said would change my perspective on chocolate forever;

In the smoke of the cigarette

Which I held the day you left and held on to ever since.

After three years and seven days,

I am back to the city;

To our city

And to you.

And all I feel is you.

This city is my shrine

And you are my God.

My pilgrimage will be paid

In intervals of three years and seven days.

Ask me not why that exact period.

All I know is- I had to say it and I did

And now,

I have you.

Time

Today I sit looking into the horizon;

the colours are similar-

similar to the day we sat hand in hand

staring at the skyline.

Our eyeballs had changed colors;

our mouths had been shut;

but our hearts rang with music.

You told me that day-

this is not the end.

A goodbye said today

is a hello said tomorrow.

You will live in me

as a vague memory;

An unforgotten feeling;

A half remembered poem.

We dreamt of the day we would meet.

Once again as sailors in this sea;

In an unknown latitude.

Then the memory would turn into reality;

The feeling would spring out from our depths;

The poem would ring loud and clear.

Goodbye- you said- was redundant.

I believed you for the fool i was.

Maybe the latitude and time are non existent.

Maybe your words were mere words.

But all i know, for now,

I remember you in the horizon;

I don’t need your promise.

A goodbye is a goodbye-

full and final.

The next we meet;

If we meet;

We meet as strangers.

The boat we float on,

you forget, is time.

And we are both its victims.

So goodbye my friend.

It was good knowing you.