Afterword Poem by Satyaki Majumdar

Morning sways, bleary-eyed
Screaming out
Against the assault of the light.

Slow, angry, annoying, slow
Reconciliation
With the awful heaviness of your limbs.

Seven thirty.

It is time to walk,
Half-alive, quarter-dead,
Quarter-indifferent.

Repetition.
Foot after foot after inane foot.

Endless covered feet.
Walking into centimeters,
And inches of lettered impression.

These people,
They're alone.
Busy being so.

Look out for the corners.

Dark,
Unknown,
Scary.

The feet curl up,
These guys can't walk,
They're half-lived, anyway.

They sit,
'Differently' able,
Holding the borders together.

The sky above,
The sky below,
The sky around.

White.
Empty.

Or filled,
With invisible dust.
Once black, now white.

Sneezes.

Grey, catatonic
Cloudbursts,
Of the unsaid.

Yearning,
For blood,
Or for water.

Parched stillnesses of flesh,
Beating unto infinity,
Faithless, loveless, forever.

Distinctly individual,
These characters:
Living together.

Apart,
A part.
Blank divisiveness.

Hence bounding
Is necessary.Hence discipline.

Hence cruelty,
Hence imagination,
Hence love?

Can't they live,
Alone,
In a sentence of their own?