To Quill the Mocking World
By Chanda Lalwani
(3 min read)
Dear day, why the hurry?
Why is your time racing against time?
Racing against everyone else
When you’re the only one that matters?
Why are you so eager to end yourself,
To end the joy that fuels your wings?
Tripping all over yourself to fall in the pit,
The pit at the end, the endless end.
So lost that you can’t find yourself,
The hours misplaced like loose change,
The seconds running so you come first.
Selling yourself today
So you may be happier tomorrow.
Why won’t you learn from the night?
Your darker and calmer twin.
The night that obsesses over itself
And stares so long, you’d blush.
Stretching time till it’s a thin string
Waiting for me to touch it
So it may quiver and shiver in joy,
Pleasing itself every moment
In the hushed silence of its thoughts,
Swirling its fingers in black ink
Looking for stars in the darkest of times,
While you shut your eyes to the sunshine
And lock yourself up,
Behind doors that you built.
But the night isn’t a coward.
It opens itself up to the world
To every thought and emotion there is
To every fond memory there was
Of course that means some nights are sad
But that’s how vulnerability works
It soaks up the sweat between the sheets
And tears from the pillows
And passes slowly, painfully
Like a kidney stone would
But even if the air is still
It plays its own tunes
And looks as beautiful as ever
Because it is not a coward
Unlike you dear day.
Look at you running away again
Blurring the lines between living
Do you know what you’re running towards?
How would you?
Knowing needs time,
The time you don’t have,
The time you have sold,
So you may have more time tomorrow.
The time you think will be better
But it won’t.
Because tomorrow you will be running again,
And the night will quietly wait by the sides
Waiting to let its hair down again.
How do I know you ask?
It is what happened yesterday
And it will happen tomorrow
Till you fall into the pit
And disappear into the night,
A compulsive nocturnal, Chanda is a consultant by day and a dreamer by night. Her happiness lies in chai, chitchat and chicken momos. She resorts to food for comfort, sings for joy, and occasionally acts for her fix of the stage lights. Loves watching and absorbing the world around her. And when these observations become too strong to be housed inside, she writes.
(Click here to read our first book “Mirrored Spaces” : A poetry and art anthology in English and Hindi with contributions from 22 artists)