The Web Poem by Pinaki Dewan

the looking night in ant-insane stutters
tries to express its long-neglected logic
to the dustbin when the cat rolls like a
silhouette-sad clump of butter and plummets
strongly into the gutter causing a debacle
when there's no one to savour the spectacle.

the yo-yo drops, the string is torn,
you see the painting finally.

like an oversized raincoat that could not protect you from the rain
the suffocation embraces you now,
like the receptionist lady with the wig
your language traces you now,
you cannot escape the eye.

this embarrassment is
storm-real nightmare-poignant monster-healthy gnat-persistent
yet this complaint is thought-abstract blister-languid agnail-limp fracture-bent,
what is wrong with poetry?

in a vehicle-hurried glimpse you have silenced me.
in a chance-stupid scripture you have confined eternity.
do you understand your reasons?
do you recognize your treasons?
life is but a paint-rancid splurge-empty apartment that you move into every two years.
is there a permanence to your smile?
or are you one of those jokers who incise their cheeks, paint smiles?
or are you one of those unsung heroes who die with a smile, making the grand sacrifice for all humanity?
humanity which punishes for homicide
but praises for spraying insecticide
you want to move in with them?

the devil tugs at the suicide bomber,
says it's not too late to turn back,
but the bomber believes in heaven.

night-worthy delights of existence
but a lover will not meet even after years
of no contact, will not pick up the phone
at 2: 22 am, when i dream of her

love is like a hankey so clean
you hesitate twice to wipe your tears with it

i will ask her again.

morning comes as if to remind that nothing lasts forever
as the first rays fall on my window
i am still fast asleep

i will. again.

in the afternoon people people people
too aggravating to describe
you know. people. people. more people.

i wish. to be. alone.
but not lonely. no.
i will ask her. no. yes. no. yesssss. yes.

the phone rings like some very precious elegy for the solitude that's supposed to be dead. she won't pick up anyway.

hello. hi. umm. it's been such a long time. blah blah blah.

in the end, the string-strong connection formed the web. we got stuck happily ever after.