Are you the words you trill,
shivering after a hot bath on a
snow-filled morning? Yet to slip
on your thermals, the heat leaving
your bare body already like flies
scuttled away from sweetmeat,
chased far out on ice sheets of
time into the 70s that were all
about a song about a certain
hotel with clocks pendulum-less,
mid-weeks un-separated from
weekends by ceaseless Thursdays,
plenty of room to stay under
the quilt of your skin for as long
as you want, the way you want.
Sudhanshu Chopra is a poet, wordsmith and pun-enthusiast. 31 and rootless, he is fascinated by nature and frustrated by its incomprehension. He wishes we had evolved better or not at all. It is the midway that causes Catch 22 situations, which are quite troubling, mentally and otherwise. He tweets at @artofdying_.