Story of a Pendulum
A Poem
I paced to and fro my body it hurriedly
Swings in the air, captured and cornered
On a concrete base. Still, I can move and
Fly, I can even change my space but
Within my limitations, crossing these
Limits will turn into some adversity.
My path is designed and I’m taking
These steps under the supervision of
Some unknown force, with every
Oscillation my body cools and warms up,
I don’t stop, although I get tired
But I’m pushing myself and with these
Thoughts, I lunged into some revelry,
With an opium shot, everything comes
To halt, in this stream of consciousness
I move with feline agility, without making
Any additional noises, feeling Lighter
Than air, moving frivolously forward and
Backwards, I’m reiterating with
The same energy and fervour,
Keeping myself still and prepared
With every new golden beam striking
The glass and illuminating my nakedness
That I can’t hide nor conceal from all
Those present and gazing at me in
Anger, no one can stop the time.
I’m just a stooge I move to and fro
And I do this to earn respect,
You can’t blame me, I’m moving with
The hands of this horologe.
When the golden beams turn into
Silver and conceal the atrocities of
The oppressor, I yearned for catching
My breath from these to and fro motions
Stealthily I can plan to rest until
Someone wakes me up on the knock or
With a kick on the door in the wee hours of the Bone-chilling cold of December or from the announcement of curfew,
coming from the loudspeaker of nearby Mosque;
In gold, red and black with jackboots on
They came in and turned everything
Upside down sparing me, gazing angrily
Towards my moving cold and numb body.
I continued my motions as the silver lines and
Ringlets turning gold,
With icicles letting their taps run dry,
Hanging from the white thick quilts on the roofs, and I swing!