A Visit To The Zoo Out Of Nothing - Poem by Ayan Dasgupta
A friend called yesterday night, and I - myself being strewn all over that very moment and perhaps countless beyond, mutilated, was called upon for an excursion - a chance - a swishy expectation to exterminate my word writing self - the selfless charm for listlessness, deceitful hatred and spiteful thought of harboring a canned belief with preservatives accumulated over the years of misgivings - and I was soon looking for an opener for the past few moments and few hundred, thousand and millions of years hidden indiscreet within them...
I had thoughts - but none were any good to excommunicate myself from the circle of lostness - being within and outside the penumbra of the heat of my childhood days, just near but not enough to feel the inexplicable joy of my boyhood days, quite into the circle of devastation to frolic in the thoughtlessness I have harvested during the days of my late youth - nowhere to go and none to run from! Expecting nothing but a few moments and erotic moods, harvesting hatred, when suddenly Sayantan called and told me over the mechanical hum of the tower in the middle of the night - his voice was heard over the killing din of his cell phone - he spoke and his voice touched me not in the sense of brother to brother or a man to a man or a lover to a lover, but in a strange way of belonging together but completely without compassion - without the question of truth and lies - reminding me in a way, the lovemaking of animals, sheltered from the scorching heat of the May Calcutta sun at the Zoo being cruelly within the enclosures and protected instinctively from human eyes - ah! reminding me of their passion under the cursed sun and of our lost selves - yes, reminding me of the zoo, Sayantan called!
A crow cawed and my stomach churned with anticipation - the light went out not to return till 3 in the morning and me, stripping myself of all the heat of civility, completely naked and Godlike - sat within the circle of the candle deciding not to face the Satan on tensed nights like these. Deciding to go anywhere with anyone - him, her or with a third sex or even with my self bitten self - keeping aside everything else - the silent words, cruelly aesthetic, the rigor mortis of died out affection and my own deceitful premonitions of not belonging to anything decisive - going to the animals and yes, we made up our minds to visit them all on some Sunday morning.
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