THE ROOM

The maze on the table

A thing that need be read

From one end to the other.

The puzzle of many objects

That unravels slowly

Sometime even growing

Ever more labyrinthine

The order that visits it

Once in a while

Clipping it sometimes a bit

Like a cropping of maize or millet

Upon growing to a certain condition

Which is a-mazing, no doubt.

The room, ever growing wild, over flowing,
Nothing retaining the order or shape
One object passing into another

My own chaosmos

With its forking paths

And straight straight lines

The dust that have settled

On the books, furniture

That was cleaned four days back,

Growing back.

The paintings on the wall

Looking at this space

As somebody looks up to them

The two way path

With a shriveled flower

On a rose plant in a flower-pot

With a hole for umbilical blood.

Stacks of books on the floor

Xeroxes waiting to be placed elsewhere

The large bed taking up

A third of the rooms space

With memories and me.

A sack full of sketch books, and two suit-cases

Pushed under the bed

In the midst of small whirl winds of dust

That circulates as the  fan goes on.

Four windows

Looking east, south and westwards

Sometimes closed or half open

Two doors towards north,, one always open

And one toward south

Covered by the book shelf

Terribly overrun with books.

The books, some read, some unread,

Some one may need, some to be disposed

Some in a state of limbo

Undecided as to their position or need.

The occasional broom that clears

The dust on the floor

Often unable to reach the crannies

The cobwebs, lizards chasing each other,

Sometimes mating, and a dead one

Hanging from a delicate hold with one of its legs

To the wall, its lower side exposed

Reminding one of the ever present

Strangeness of death

And ants that suddenly come out, winged

From small cracks in the wall

To gather in their carnival and fly off.

Two chairs, one of cane and the other fibre

The computer

All too often failing to start up.

You and me conversing

Over cups of black coffee.

A shelf on the wall

With tit-bits of many a kind

The details that I would have to forego

Until I clear this maze again

That I may do soon, thanks be to God!