Some Days Are Just Messy Poem by Anish Cherian

Where does this blinding light originate.
Through irrelevant spaces it moved along to mine;
and I exist along with it.
I dwell here in retirement and the barbaric lustre takes away
this solitude I am comforted with.

A stain on my bed is made visible,
Am glad to have no recollection of its origin.
The floral drapes tire me when the flowers don't wither out.
I had woken up to see these patterns and colors of objects and objects
When my stomach cringed with pain.
An ammunition went out inside, but I get distracted by the light.
I did not welcome it, I tried not to oblige.

It sits across me, over this sofa and on the kitchen counter
I drown in coffee and fight the light
I drown another until I run short
I drown myself in the drugs I find lying around
Am pleased they lie around for me
I drown and the light becomes persistent.

What are you trying to make visible to me in these floral patterns, the coffee rings I leave around everywhere unnoticing
They are on the ceiling and I hold out my arm to take hold
I drown the coffee

I remember flowers smelling different
Knowing I am being played here - I don't wait for the flowers to wither
Or the stain to become permanent.
The stain is on the window pane and it slithers downward to creep under my carpet
Something I ordered to be beautiful in this dark room
My room has been compromised and so are the coffee rings
The flowers and the stain, and my naked body whose skin
Wrinkles up to crawl back into the dark
I am compromised.