Her hands on the coffee table
dovetailing . . .
Some dead bulbs
emitting darkness . . .
a dysfunctional water motor . . .
a teeming aesthetic heart!
Three prowling poems,
two pending office files,
a hide and seek
within the crumbling deadline
of a syllabus unfinished,
of an article unwritten;
Five short stories
attending my daily lectures,
sometimes bunking days altogether,
sometimes bickering -
Character X of Story 1 vs Character X of Story 2.
The perplexing fiction of my life
where
the metaphor should
uphold the luminosity
of the low-end bulbs
without burning her Monalisa hands,
while the poem ignites the motor
with a subtle 'metaphysical manoeuvre'.
