I have not known the streets as yet…….

I have not known the streets as yet…….

I must go now. I must pass between the streets boxed within the grey skies, full of memories of the rains. Did you know that they remain the same within my heart, full of memories of the rains too? It must be getting dark soon and the chill will come to settle between my fingers holding a darkly lit roll of cigarette. The smoke merges with my breath, and I play with it till the dragon in me feels quite regular. I ask myself in a voice, that feels so much like a practiced huskiness, “Am I regular?” Standing alone I let some ash fall on the street and instantly get punctured by the moist floor. I say again “The streets are always wet, my ashes can hardly fly and make a nuisance of my dark overcoat”. But it is a matter of no importance, I decide then and there. The wet floor becomes puddles at places, and I try to skip them by and nibble at the only question that nags my mind “Am I really regular?” I try to dally with the answer for bedtime soporific musings. Then I think, If I must go home now, there will be so much to do with the rest of the day. For instance, I will have to avoid being alone amidst the whole of the neighborhood, praying before dinner, holding hands across fences or already making love in their kitchen. In the street I only need fear the rain and the sky that is chequered with the fate of the stars. It is never regular and yet always the forgotten limit. The street is now a little darker; every window looks warm and lost in velvety warmth that has withstood the daylights assault. There! that’s my home, my house, and my shelter. I will have the darkness to stir from the porch to the bed till I leave a wake of flooded ennui. I am lost within my own rhythm of chores. A sensitized journey along the streets to the unique shelter that I call my home is undergone and a homeostasis is reached for the day, until the day begins again and I start from the same point. I was supposed to know you by name, but I shall call you ‘My synthetic journey’. This is a strange place I must visit, everyday between the sheets of happy colored mazes that make the lusts of my vision quite happy. I crawl with my mind to the sunny garden at the back of my house just from where all the streets begin all over again and I must not complain but they make me feel so less interesting! They are the distance between you and me and I wonder how to walk between them, so that, for once I may lose my way. But they always take me beneath the skies of endless rainbow and a constellation of fate that remain cradled in the basket of puddles, everytime I jump over them and ask “Am I only very regular?” I have known so many darknesses, and yet all think that it is a monolithic smear that either stays or goes away. Have you ever known a darkness that pours like liquid over you when you walk all the way home? Or what about the thick darkness that hangs between you and the people around you, waving and smiling? The darkness that follows me like an endless temptation and licks my feet when I sit on my bed and sigh ‘amen’ for the day. The darkness that I cradle in my arms as I pass along lighted shops with manikin make-up people, choosing what ought not to be regular for them, I clutch it close to my heart and kiss the soft touch of its abysses. I finally enter my house and feel for the switches…