Prelude from a New Poetry Series : Montages

Copyright:  Ishan Sadwelkar
No part of this writing may be reproduced without the consent of the author

________
This is the first poem from a new series I’ve started titled Montages.

Montage 1

On the surface it was just jazz
Standards
6/8. The time was 6.45
a.m. or p.m. I was unaware
in walks a lonely father
a moon rises calmly over some horizon
but we cannot experience it from here
here there is a broken universe

brushes make love to the cymbal
seated amidst easy 20 year old takeaways
life ignores him
but he can pay for his beer
bassist whispers cannot be heard

I exit this boredom
outside the world moves unattended
nobody knows of the other
buildings rise slowly
houses wrinkle
stars above us form stories
we cannot see them through the smog

A bus arrives and stops near the stop
the agony is that it is never precise
unaware of myself I climb in
an unseen man pushes me back into our world

he is a lonely father
as he stepped in and I was thrown out
the smell of a troubled silence
the smell of sadness
a fermenting frown
unsaid ideas and undone dreams

suddenly flashed past me, all offbeat
on the surface it was jazz
I couldn’t smell the alcohol though
I too was lonely that day

_____

Featured photograph was made by me in Bangalore, 2014. 

Sincerely, its an honest effort to write poetry which is not articulate. One can argue that it borders a post-modern content or treatment. I aim to do away with cliches, rhythm and substitute them with a thought out imperfection. Much like impromptu jazz this might be half-cooked. Still evolving though, like a suburb, still evolving.

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