I cannot pretend, that
I am not seeing television
The screen of which is switched off
I could see the reflections
of my ceiling fan revolving, mapping
its shadow on the opposite muted walls

These news, these shop operas
Don’t hold me dear
I am not talking about George Floyd, or
of a pregnant elephant gulping pineapple crackers within
I am my own “I can’t breath”;
I am my own dead trumpet

I have my own friendship
“Friendship with none”
I am the cast away man
Running after my own reflection.
Hold me a nonentity
Balkanization of my thoughts

6 thoughts on “Balkanization

  1. Madhumathy

    The writer in a charming way expresses his desire to disenchant himself from the brutual inhumanities we are forced to watch day in and day out.

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