Edge to Edge (Post post modern poetry)
When I slept in the afternoon after going through the ordeal of riding a cab in the heat only my Donna Karan glasses less by one degree in darkness and covering all my eyes protected me from fainting I wore my shirt which was stinking from sweat when I threw myself on the bed escaping the eyes of the old widow in the other room the fan went off I concentrated to sleep even without and I did after intense fantasies remembering the movie “The Pianist” I had watched the last night and the inspired soldier who let the soul of the pianist survive and himself landed in the war prison camp because he wanted to contact that other foolish violinist who instead spat on him being German and he could not be saved by the pianist as the pianist did not know his name because when the German soldier was getting inspired by the music in ruins he forgot telling him his name we are all victims of romance the German soldier could have made a bargain the pianist was too hungry to know about him and terrified for what he had seen when I woke up I got hold of my guitar similarly inspired as the German soldier was I entered into a black shirt on whose collar is written ‘edge to edge’ with an emblem of an animal having one long horn I went to drink coffee before I took a bath when I picked my phone to make a call one dear number of mine with me since a decade I found that it was stolen by someone my dreams shattered suddenly in the wake of reality of the number from the pianist now I was in deep trouble I came out my appetite was no more I entered a bakery to buy myself a burger that was wrapped in polythene there was no place to sit the burger was put in oven some of the polythene melted into the sauce my fingers burned to open the ketchup sachet I came into the dark corner a dog was sleeping I preferred sharing my burger with a cat on small concrete steps the cat could not take diet coke pieces of chicken slipped down and she was eating I rubbed my hands on my shorts and thanked the cat for she was my friend on dinner
8/8/2009
PS: These are real events narration in what I call 'post post modern poetry' writing straight what you feel without giving it a form or even punctuation
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Added by Poetry Lover
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