Imperfection or Perfect Confusion

a poem by Urmila Mahajan

Imperfection or Perfect Confusion
A fragile pot of luminous hue
On a cosmic wheel, slightly askew.

An interval between a cry and hiccup
A clamorous din though you’re afraid to speak up.

A puff of wind that’s here and gone
Stealing all you’ve had since you were born.

An uphill struggle if you’re game
A wait unto death if you want to play lame.

A grand cathedral with a shaky steeple
A lonely path that’s crammed with people.

A teardrop on a withered cheek
Brushed aside by them that of charity speak.

Time and space enough to realise
They want your smiles, but not your cries.

Where people talk to mask their thoughts
Stopping to listen if you say what they’re taught.

Not one cares for reason or for rhyme
Being swayed by sheer volume most of the time.

A rapid succession of sunrise sunset
That blushes untiring, unnoticed yet-

By an audience that busies itself with tricks
To amuse itself, inventing gimmicks.

We bolt our doors in mortal fear
Of our own kind who may be lurking near-

Yet meet to huddle and beat our drum
About god and other problems to come.

Our pens are full to record hollow words
That ring out like echoes of others you’ve heard.

Though colours merge softly in the dark
We seek out harsh floodlights to stand us out stark-

In a one-act play with a dubious plot
A moment to sparkle is all that you’ve got.

A split second to wonder at it all
In the fading light as the curtains fall-
On life.