Inspired by a poem by Zwicky I read tonight.

Let’s suppose the story started along a deep purple vein
which has been tied off.
And the impassable transition creates a hollow.
which soon fills with people
who each make different sounds and
who still sound the same.

Their noise leads you to the centre of a neutral room
where a new jacquard linen coats a table
which was dappled in carbon sketches
dog eared books and cashews only a few hours earlier.

You sway your body into a pace
of wisp-ers and sham-wisdoms
while the sun desperately
tries to shine into your unsettling.

You wonder why your arms don’t work
and tell yourself (and others) it is because your
new workout was gruelling.
It is more likely because all
effort went into baking sweets
and disinfecting the walls
for houseguests you don’t really like.

This pattern of talking for the sake of talking
repeats itself until you eventually listen.
what is it that you have to say?

words © malai 2013
photography copyright © Nausher Banaji
all rights retained by photographer. www.Nausher.com