Treasure Island

Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

it was impossible

It was impossible to inhale air without twin
bifurcation of nostrils,
sustain life with nonchalant ease; for more than an
wholesome minute.

it was impossible to walk without angularly sculptured
viciously kick grey boulders of stone; acting as
barricade's in unveiling

it was impossible to scribble literature without
articulate synchronization of
emboss exquisite lines of calligraphy on naked sheets
of bond paper.

it was impossible to segregate minuscule threads of
color without immaculate
distinguish between the good and gruesomely bad;
lurking on this earth.

it was impossible to decimate food into supple
chowder; without strong
produce gregarious smiles in tandem; when frivolously

it was impossible to secrete saliva without rosy pink
organ of tongue,
rebuke people with loads of spit; in response to their
uncouth deeds.

it was impossible to uproot concrete edifices with
bare hands,
amalgamate sapphire arenas of sky with the periphery
of monotonous earth.

it was impossible to operate the hi-tech computer
without a plethora of
software chips,
type a battalion of literature at swashbuckling

it was impossible to quench thirst without gallons of
fresh water,
assassinate intractable blotches of dirt; agglutinated
to clean cloth.

it was impossible to die without abrupt closure of
tangible heart beat,
infinite cells of animation; freezing in the body.

and it was impossible to live without loving a person
in heart; body; and
dedicating marathon hours in life; harnessing that
perpetual affinity.

Submitted: Monday, August 18, 2014

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