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
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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