On a Google Plane

There’s nothing now and I see air.
Words used to escape from the lips to encapsulate the world,
Now they just sink into my throat and choke me.
They choke us.
I draw lines that don’t end,
Write things that have been said before.
I speak cliches.

How could a day decimate a whole mighty calendar of events?
Rubbles fall on my head and I feel dizzy.
This is strange.
A white board,
Vacant desks,
Faint footsteps,
A light meal –
These are strange.

Last night I dreamt that you flew away
On a Google Plane –
A Google Plane.
It’s blue and yellow, green and red,
And white. And you typed your destination
And you were gone.
Fancy that? A Google Plane.

I scratch my head at the future.
Tempted by religion, I try to see the Purpose of things,
Of Stuff and Things and Thingamajigs.
Flushing the toilet is a relief.

Convincing silence, a ghostly presence –
“I must have been wrong.”
One look at my wallet and,
“Yeah, I must have been poor.”
You look different, sound alien,
“Indeed, it must have been a mistake.”
All late realizations with nothing to offer
Than the taste of dried saliva in my mouth.
F*ck the world.

Hate, typed on the phone, sent on cyberspace
Lands with raised eyebrows on the righteous screen.
Hate says “F*ck the world.”
“F*ck the b*tches and the cliches,
People’s plans and wishes,
The white board, the desks, and footsteps.”

“F*ck the strangeness, the silence,
Men from Mars and from Venus
Riding our elevators.”

“F*ck knowledge and truth,
Opinions and issues,
Soulless objects that get us to the other side,
Where we laugh at how the Universe f*cks itself into oblivion.”

And the hate dissipates leaving only the cold wind
That chills January nights and numbs my cheeks.
A white cat descends the stairs, glowing against the hungry shadows.

So I take my pencil and draw more faces.
Once again, I try to conquer this world with little funny strokes.
I send text messages, erased in a split second.
The online private messenger grieves.
I cough my lungs out, drain my heart out to this poem,
But late realizations have nothing to offer,
And there’s nothing now and I see air.

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Filed under Love, Poems

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