Phantasmagoria Poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri

I felt the thrust of her finger
probing into my cheek.
I didn’t know
if I saw it or sensed
for I had lain sprawled in the bed
like a log on a jungle rock -
for how many hours
I lost count -
unmindful of the still air
from the rested fan up
or through my frozen nostrils.

The frown on her face
and the curl on her lip
loosened; reading that
I peeped out of my hibernation
she sailed out, relieved,
carrying along her jute bag
laden with assortment of saris.

Again time stilled
in a spaceless limbo…

Now a hazy shift
in the phantasmagoria…
I felt the buffeting blast of breeze
furiously swirling down in whorls
from the suddenly spinning fan,
as I heard the heaves of my heart
playing on the drums of my ears.

Was this gust from some eerie hole?
Or from the power of her sari roll?

[Jul 14,2009: : Hyderabad - 500 056]