Green Bubbles (a failed poem)

Those entrapments, your eyes,

like green bubbles

of some dark gory pond,

gulped my shoddy lies…

 

I started off, thinking, that I will write a poem on ‘green eyes’. But the main problem came up when those eyes overpowered my whole ‘vision’, my whole ‘being’, my reason of ‘existence’. So, since, I am unable to write a poem, I am going to write about what I wanted to write about. I wanted to compare those green eyes with those dying bubbles in some unknown faithless forgotten pond, those bubbles coming into existence because of some monster’s breath, breath-bubbles dying on the surface of the pond, a monster who is snoring peacefully in the depth of the pond. That monster is not evil, just the thought of that monster is. I wanted to juxtapose the image of those eyes with the stars, melting and falling on a barren land or may be a desert, falling like light little white torn feathers. I saw those eyes in my dreams, looking at me, making me a victim or a culprit or a murderer or a corpse. Those eyes shined like a drop of saliva, slowly trickling down from the side-crack of those lips and absorbing the diffused promiscuous sunlight, and sparkling like an un-clean diamond. I felt a burning sensation wherever those eyes rested their gaze, I scratched my body and my scratches peeled off my skin and I could see the white bones, and when I scratched my bones, it tickled me. And the main problem is that the more I think about those eyes, the more I forget about what I was thinking, memory of those eyes is depressingly enlightening, they somehow show me a path which ultimately leads me, pushes me and takes me to my own self. Without being a sentimentalist I wanted to analyze the relation of my decay with those eyes but I think I am failing, I have failed in everything, those eyes just helped me to accept my failures without any grudges or hard feelings. Those mythical eyes, I wanted them to look at me and burn me. Those intoxicating eyes, sometimes they looked like two glowing white orifices in which there was no darkness, they contained brightness. Those green eyes, they said ‘green’ represented jealousy, but those green eyes taught me to be jealous of everything except myself, everything, anything, whatever those green eyes looked and stared, the more those green eyes looked, the more green in jealousy I turned. Those mechanically erotic eyes controlled my machinery with a professional ease and made me a neurotic, although I had always been a neurotic in one way or the other but those green eyes introduced me to some new kind of unknown ecstasy filled euphoria. Those sadist eyes, made me the prisoner of its gaze and then those sad eyes disappeared or may be just covered itself with those lids with heavy long lashes, as long as Rapunzel’s hair. Those lashes, dangling like black slippery ropes and I was trying to pull myself up, vain attempts of climbing, to reach those eyes, but failing like some fake tired Sisyphus. There is no end to it, but a constant struggle, a constant reminder of the in-completion of something, everything is incomplete, stays incomplete till its death, in-completion might sting the deepest layer but I think in a world where cuticles are more significant, deepest layers have become habitual to use bruises of those stings as brush strokes from some abstract famous painter and become a piece of pre/semi/post modern art……….

Signed

A.

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