On The Edge (An Absurd Poem)


‘Up here the wind is always strong,
a notch milder than an official storm’.
The breeze had bloated his shirt like a billowing sail.
Past the safety line of sanity,
he strode towards the edge to quench
his insatiable thirst for the view from there.
Exactly hundred meters down laid the street.
A dead snake of an absurd length
it seemed from up there, with parallel rows
of glaring sodium lights. The alternate
blocks of bright yellow and murky shadows
painted the serpentine skin with an eerie glow.
Every now and then one or two human beings,
too tiny to be recognized,
emerging from one of the murky blocks,
casting their shadows for a while before
fading into the next one. Then there were the cars,
changing their colors like a chameleon
at the yellow blocks. In a lot of ways
the street reminded him of his life
with transient shadows and fleeting chameleons, through
the adjacent patches of dark sorrow
and bright joy. From the edge having
a bird’s eye view of it had given him
many precious insights into
the impossibly complex web of life.
‘Life has been a comfortable one throughout,
comfortable but never smooth as it rose and fell.’
he said aloud. Otherwise, his story
might have been a lot different,
classified under a different genre. Growing up
in this vicious and luring city as the child
of a slum-dweller could be an epic
of humility, injustice and strife
but no one even seemed to notice them these days.
As lonelier he got the richer he became,
he wished that he had let his genes grow,
‘But the world is teeming with seven billion souls!’
he surmised. There on that edge familiar,
he sat with his feet dangling in the air
and he closed his eyes before plunging down
into the dark abyss of oblivion, from there.

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