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| Santosh Bakaya |
The Shriek
Don’t you think there is a surreal air about everything?
An Australian Pelican and a couple of seagulls have reclaimed the land,
their manner so grand. Where are the humans?
Have they headed towards the mountains to meditate and introspect?
Find out what went wrong. Who throttled the song?
Has the human jollity died, due to the air of poor quality?
Is it now a permanent harsh reality?
I cannot breathe- I cannot breathe...
Why are the hills dressed in hues of grey?
Are they mourning something, pray?
It blows hot! It blows cold! I hold my breath and listen to faint,
serrated notes of an atrophied song!
A fossil yearning to be resurrected.
A seagull squawks. Is it gull territory now?
I breathe in staccato bursts.
Spasmodic spurts synchronizing with the gulls' squawks
Am I an oddity? Or is everyone breathing my way?
What is my interpretation of this eerie scene?
Has the avian fraternity taken over the jetty? Isn’t that what the petty rumors say?
Through groggy eyes, I see bedraggled dreams trying to get a makeover-
I feel the waves caressing my soul - but do I have a soul?
It appears droll! Very droll.
What is that sound? Ah, It is just a shriek - the shriek of my pen!
A silhouette is bending over the carcass of lies - picking termites from the stinking heap!
Lamenting the act of the horrific hobo who ran away with the supply of oxygen
Rogues and gangsters, Villains and mobsters?
Do I glimpse a leprechaun holding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?
Woe! My fertile imagination has gone into overdrive!
In the distance, I see a scarecrow raising its wooden arms upwards -
mumbling a prayer! What notions! Do scarecrows pray?
I don’t pray, so am I a scarecrow?
The scarecrow’s marble eyes watch me,
trying to read my lips - I hardly spoke, did I?
I never speak, even when needed.
The scarecrow is merely wiping surreptitious tears,
pained at the toxicity of being othered!
I choke - I cannot breathe I cannot breathe
I feel smothered!
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