How many moments
Have I killed
To get here.
Angered immortal time
By scratching pimpled minutes
Off the face of her favourite clock,
Laughed at the sun
And the scarred moon
As others cashed in
On their frequent flier miles,
The length of a city
measured in the seconds it took
to go fromRD Burman and AR Rahman,
Have I pickled my brain,
marinating it in Train timetables
yoked to broken clocks
hung on crowded platforms?
Groundhog days repeated
In loop across weeks
And months
And years,
How many times have I
dried up thoughts and burnt emotions
dripping with memories,
Some real,
Mostly fake.
I have lost them all.
A price
for the broken words
I now type and send
across this warped spacetime
of virtual reality.
Was it all for this though?
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