A long ascent towards the impending doom
May my future self betray me
if I live long enough to change.
Untangle one wrist from the clasp of the other
and flee, illuminating nothing.
May the names I assigned to things
no longer fit.
What I call land will bleed out beneath her feet, and what I call law will soften in her hot, living hand like a piece of ice, a drop of water.
Enter history if I am a myth. If I'm history, I'm not going to mention myth. That's the issue: we use the same few words over and over again, as if each one signified something different. "Stay," a voice begs, and I freeze.
Is this what it means?
How will she react When I ask her to run? What good would a history do her in the first place - what good would this tight, foolish narrative?
If I live long enough to no longer touch terrain I don't yet confess fertile with my hands may my future self term it so and get to her feet.
This is what it means.
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Saurav Maan
Confused between passion and profession, Saurav would choose procrastination - even while writing a one line bio. Or an anti-bio.