It is true what they say, without a chorus, Antigone doesn’t have a say (or & और, में खायल हूं किसी और का, मुझे सोचता कोई कोर है।)
I am struggling to write,
I feel all alone.
Ideas are always on the margins,
the lines keep shifting.
I am freaking out,
I cannot feel.
Is this a writer’s block,
or, is the poet on a break?
Words, which are my arsenal, ammunition & my only armour,
have abandoned me,
they chose to leave with the poet who is punishing me for my impertinent ways:
how could I, an eternal listener,
a Hegelian subject condemned to the bootcamps of beings,
(always chasing the other & only in tasting the other coming alive)
believe the chorus is here to stay?
How could I, an ethnographer of precarity,
not recognise how frail, fleeting & fragile matters of voice really are?
The poet is punishing me for my impatience,
our arrangement is to plead to posterity,
to redeem for our savage souls.
I broke our agreed terms & conditions,
I started to think of present as permanent,
future no longer an abstraction,
but only one-hand’s distance away,
of course I belittled the other,
I subtracted it from the equation.
It is true what they say,
without a chorus,
Antigone doesn’t have a say.
This is my humble submission to the poet,
but also a lovelorn letter too,
to come back to me,
or take me too,
but don’t leave me alone,
without my others.
I shall never dare to think alone,
nevermore, I say, nevermore;
I shall always be else’s Eleanor,
I even promise to die more often,
but nevermore without an(other) breathing down my necks,
shall I breathe another word of being.
I beseech & beg the poet to return,
without the poet’s loneliness,
distances have disappeared,
only destinations stay.
All else failing,
I make my Antigone threats to the poet,
you may be the exception, I say,
for whom I shall defy any universality,
but there are other universes too,
& here too are a few poets who may be eligible & eager to fill the posts abandoned
I borrow an(other)’s words to tempt & tease, but really to plead to the poet,
to say, I indeed know now,
I am tasted on the tongues of others,
I only thrive in their dreams.
I am the mirror i am seen in,
But only an other is always the mirror;
में खायल हूं किसी और का,
मुझे सोचता कोई कोर है।
सरे आइना मेरा अक्स है
बस आइना कोई और।
[9th June 2024, secret corners, mountains]