Distant from this bifurcated world, the hue of some hearts beats like a flickering light bulb;
where luminescence dares to breathe with oblivion looming behind,
and no shred of darkness burns without the memory of light.
There is a space between the incandescence and the murk; a multitude of forever,
a mouthful of seconds, where those who have known both darkness and light
either flicker in the flow or stand unstirred. A place where, when touched by darkness or by light,
soldiers write poems and poets wage wars; drowning in the epiphany of a persistent illusion.
They are the ones who silently watch and feel the world;
when dusk creeps in and loneliness sleeps in every corner, laughter fades into a forgotten echo,
hunger hovers outside the church.
A guitarist on the street with his empty hat,
a florist returns home with her cart full of flowers. A homeland turns into a territory;
gunshots and eulogies, mothers weaving prayers. And then a blink of an eye, few uniforms knock on the door,
a pyrrhic victory; the reunion of humanity.
All boundaries dissolve momentarily, the guitarist surprises his beloved with her favourite flowers,
he finds money enfolded around a kind note in the hat, he remembers to give some to the pauper outside the church;
as the forgotten laughter reverberates, you and I feel the bliss of solitude
and loneliness wakes up with a blanket at the crack of dawn.
Ruchita Nagar is currently pursuing her degree in English literature from Lady Shri Ram College for Women. Poetry, music, and long walks are what keeps her going every day. On some days, she sits with her solitude amongst the notes of Jazz and Indian Classical music, on others, she loves feeling and analysing the world around her through literature.