Droplets of meditation brim forth,
the cauldron boils perpetually —
through the tedium of life.
The etched screen is myself and on it
my rebellious spirit flits unsatiated, unquenched
somewhere on the borders of a perfect relationship
stalking its victim.
The blackout of emotions is heartwarming, welcome
gracefully. selfishly. refusing adoration.
Straight lines of aloofness are broken and joined
into alliances polygonal. triangular.
Mass chattering media. disciples of McLuhan
the diorama of incoherence cures one occasionally
of one’s cliches,
People inarticulate for ages. use columns of print,
the primitive machine. to communicate.
to love and hate.
How funny and ecstatic to experience the spontaneous
exhaust of pent-up anger on encountering a longed for face
Pointless to carry the load of a culture whose promises
are made to be promptly broken,
whose instruments of so-called creativity
manufacture the empty music of arid wastes
and enlarge the frightening vacuum
of contradictions.
–A poem by Javed Ansari from Sometime Somewhere
…published by Budding Talents (1977)
