Clank, clunk, thump, chunk, the tired wheels turn
An empty corner of oblivion is what they yearn. Running and racing thoughts gush at speed Tumbling one after the other, hardly can I pay them heed. The course of the day replayed in its unnecessary entirety Incessant loop kindling my worry and anxiety. Clank, clunk, thump, chunk, the tired wheels turn An empty corner of oblivion is what they yearn. Stale words regurgitated, bygone conversations revisited Threadbare carpet of my thoughts stealthily retreaded, Warming up ideas that were discarded, left behind Unnecessary information occupying my mind. Clank, clunk, thump, chunk, the tired wheels turn An empty corner of oblivion is what they yearn. As night descends, the machine gains new vigour Unearthly dreams and nightmares peculiar. "Stop it! Do you hear me? This is ME." "I am your master, not the other way you see." "Stop", I command, I instruct, I reason, I plead To my inner voice;" this stimulation I do not need." But again, clank, clunk, thump, chunk, the tired wheels turn In all readiness for more thoughts they churn. Weariness has made a home in my helpless head Roots in my chest and my gut it has spread. To the memory of a simpler time my heart clings A time when time meant nothing and nothingness was a thing. No clank, no clunk, no thump, no chunk, none distressed My corner of oblivion, where tired wheels can rest. I want again my power to sit and emptily gaze To effortlessly be engulfed in that idle haze. A sea of leisure, lassitude and slowness Oh! How my heart yearns for that Sacred Idleness.
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AuthorAn Indian visual artist, living in Pune, who finds her challenge and her calm in the realm of paper. Archives
May 2019
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