But he won’t argue, his beatific smile is either answer or
question, both blue solvents like the bottomless sea. He’s only a
minor god, an acquaintance of sorts, like people you meet
sometimes on the bus, a nod, a few questions, weather and
such, you never even ask their names. But now he talks about ice
cream, no dairy, no sugar, no chocolate, it’s all the rage, he says,
it’s how you save yourself and the world. That’s when it started.
Saving the world is his job, I countered, why put the load on my
shoulders when my life is just the length of a shrug, why create,
ruin, then create more to clean up the mess, there is a point when
this game will lose all meaning. One day, I tell him, there will be no
one, just a flotilla of bodiless souls, streams of consciousness snaking
through the dusty light and then what will you have achieved? That
brought the smile. Maybe it was a question. Which is the burden?
Leaving behind a slightly better universe, living like there is actually a
tomorrow, or believing that someone, he, is going to stop the
apocalypse just before the credits roll? Or maybe it was the
answer- you cannot alter the master plan. I try the gelato, an
unfamilar coldness, the taste of the morning sky after it has rained
all night. What do you think, he smiles again. Question and Answer.
I am a poet from Bangalore, India and I post my work on thotpurge.wordpress.com
Some of my poems have recently appeared in online journals such as The Lake, Quiet Letter, Under the Basho and The Cherita.