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Salil Wagh


Salil Wagh



She meets spiderman - Sanjeev Khandekar




The Poem Number Zero

donít try to
read this or
make a sense of it
this is a dummy copy
donít try to read this or ma
ke sense of it
this is a dummy copy donít try
to read this or make a sense of
it this is a dummy copy donít try to
read this or make a sense of it this is a dummy copy
donít try to read or make
a sense of it

this is a dummy
copy donít try to read this
or make a sense of
it this is a dummy copy
donít try to read this or make
a sense
of it this is a dummy
copy donít try to read this or make a sense of it
this is a dummy copy donít try

 

Untitled

An evening

Like a journey
From the yield point to the maximum stress
Charted on the graph
Showing the stress-strain relation
Of a loaded wire.

While crossing
all the boundaries of eveningness
There is this haste
Always.

Or else one digresses
Even before uttering a word,
Simple glances are interpreted as opinions.
State of spiritual absorption turned into a pond
It wakes up from exceptions.
In the evening when the Word of words sets,
The expanse of meanings open:
It is from here that my story gathers momentum
With all its ultimate material.
I always prefer
To write on a lined paper.
I cannot brace
The open void
Of the blank paper that rushes at me.
I draw the lines if there are none.
The reasons for this
are my fucking handwritings.
They canít remain alone at equal distance
In a straight-line right from the beginning.
The first letter and the second hardly match.
The curves, the vectors of the strokes
Keep on changing like me even now.
If there is no gravitational pull
My basically itinerant handwriting
Runs at the brisk pace of my brain
Then cracks and disintegrates.
My loving touchy coquettish letters
Dart around madly
They forget to which word they belong.
They become uneasy and edgy
They canít understand
What are they supposed to do?
They canít understand their own rhythm of dissolution,
Their own ultimate liberation.
Therefore I always
Decide to write on a lined paper.



 

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