Freedom

(a poem deliberately fragmented into three parts.)

Part 1: Neil & Sana

Pink Floyd made more sense than

a two decade long relationship

with formal education leading  

to  a merchant office bubbling with vacuum.

It ‘s taking Neil years to figure out,

where inside the garbage heap

full of files and flies with foreign names –

did he leave Sana last.

Promising  return or a ceremonious goodbye.

Yet he is searching –

Investigating every compassionate stranger;

who seemed unfamiliar

and capable of remaining so.

Investigating every poem or song

that spoke about his past

masqueraded from understanding.

Investigating every word that seemed

less strange than the rest …

every word that was Pink Floyd!

Locked in a mesh of humans , advertisements

and spam mails promising fortunes –

Sana waits imprisoned for every new day.

Fancying fairytales or a tamed coincidence,

Sana waits on – shackled and weathered –

as her eyes wet unsure;

whether it’s the smell of rain or Neil.

Part 2: Enter Anirban (The Poet)

“Chuck it, assholes!

Why complicate a simple Neil & Sana story?

Look at the love birds … happily screwing

On each other’s friend-studded walls.

Like them and fuck off to porn files

and Pink Floyd.”

Looking around for faces that seem convinced,

I noticed Neil look back at me-

Trace disappointed, trace helpless, trace tired.

I noticed many Neils look back at me,

pausing infinite searches

for the Sana that waits imprisoned

with eyes wet and Neiled.

“I am not a stranger –

I am your fucking creator”

I yelled at one that inched closer

expecting aides or maybe just an e-mail address.

He inched closer,

as a deafening reverberation

of my own words,

detached to hit me hard.

He inched closer

as a  deafening reverberation

that seemed more Pink Floyd than my words

hammered merchant offices and centers of education

calling out Neils by numbers and lots.

He inched closer

as the deafening reverberation

like a beating heart knocked Sana’s breasts from inside

pleading for freedom.

He inched closer

as I felt overpowered

and silently joined their search.

Part 3: T.S. Eliot style exit of all.

We searched for Sana ,

trying hard to remember

where last the individual promises were made.

At all prisons empty of prisoners

and gates carelessly open-

we searched all stones

and searched all records that education helped us maintain.

We searched for Sana-

unsure whether smell of rain would lead to her,

alone in her cell

coming to terms with a rapid beating heart.

We discussed all night,

all information we hoped could help

till realizing at dawn :

Mistakes were our only coincidence.

The Sana Neil knew,

the Sana we knew –

the Sana I knew

was further away than ever before!

Neil ran to strangers requesting aid

We ran to strangers requesting aid

I ran to strangers requesting aid

till reverberations we heard,

familiarly absurd –

“Chuck it asshole,

why complicate a Neil & Sana story?”

Reverberations rocked hard

all the senses Neil ever knew existed.

All of them writhed,

to come out of pain.

All of us writhed

to come out of pain.

Storms knocked us through tenses of verbs,

like a ritual we fought ,

braving echoes distant yet strong :

“Chuck it assholes.”

Braving echoes that reached Sana

in the language of beating heart.

“Chuck it assholes.”

And many years slipped by

and many new echoes were born

to get etched onto heartbeats

to get etched onto each limb muscle

owned by Neil

owned by them

Owned by me.

Announcing pain like never before.

And many years slipped by

before we reached right on time.

To the bedside and the side-table

full of medicines and fruits staling,

to see Sana die.

“Chuck it ass-hole”

She said and died.

Neil walked back

 through ambiguous alleys

and smells that made his life.

Neil walked back

to the merchant office,

his education fondly gifted.

Neil walked back

to the world full of assholes

and bits of Pink-Floyd,

hoping to reach freedom.

Freedom ! Freedom ! Freedom!

Oh Neil , Poor Neil- I give you Freedom.

Oh Sana, dead Sana -I give you freedom.

Oh beating heart, I give you freedom.

Oh fucking asshole , I give you freedom.

Oh echoes & reverberations , I give you freedom.

Oh dear world , I give you freedom –

be Pink Floyd.