A stream

I was there, in the midst of nowhere…
I was flowing, as always
not to anywhere,
not from anywhere,
but I was there as always…

All the memories of yesterdays,
all the moments of today,
all the hopes for tomorrows,
and armed dreams of days after,
remained there as ripples;
making the water weeds dance …

See, but I am not the river as you deem
Not the water in it, which makes a river
Not the wetness in it which makes water
Not the canal and neither the direction
Not the upside down images of trees on the sides
Not the sunrays splitting inside into blood and violet
Not the fishes and not the fisher men
I am just what I am, just a flow,
A flow, in it’s pure sense,
which can’t even flow away…..

Call me a floating flow, on the lap of all others
No in-depth current underneath and no curls on the top...

I have seen angry monsoon,
washing the tender roots of mighty trees…
I have seen unhealthy laundry women
washing costly linen of their wealthy masters…
I have seen sunsets in summer, in which birds
fly with their burning wings
I have seen winter, with mysteries of -
the frozen nights hanging out in the mornings…
I have seen beautiful dead women
On the glossy floor of water,
Travelling towards the sea…
I have seen, wild men fist fucking,
on the fleshy water in twilight….
I have seen the laughter of children,
flying in the fallen skies of evenings…
I have seen you several times,
I have seen them too…

I have seen everything.
I have seen everything else,
Except me…..

But I was there in the midst of the stream
not inside and not out
nobody called my name
and nobody touched me
nothing there to mark my being….
I may be alive or I may be dead;
who cares If I am there or if I am not…