It was the yellow you get from fading light bulbs:
I was sitting halfway through the sky
tucked into a corner
with a bunch of people I did not know,
who I call my friends.
I was watching a show I could not understand.
It was a lot like the next moment when
I started pulling a scarf out of my mouth –
The scarf did not seem to end
And my hands were aching;
I wanted to say, “Make it stop,”
But all that came out was muffled fabric.
I could feel my weariness grow as their laughter rumbled amongst the clouds.
The seat swivels seductively and
– for a fleeting moment –
I think I could fall
into the vastness of the sky
that was ultimately nothing.
I almost do but then I don’t and
I am still stuck to the chair and
I don’t think I have ever been this unlucky.
This piece was written a month ago. It is, almost completely, based on a dream I had during one of my daily afternoon naps. Maybe it was due to the fact these ‘naps’ tend to, almost always, stretch into indulgent slumbers or maybe I just want to partake in my own brand of superstition and believe that everything leads to something. I am still not sure why I wrote it down but I knew that I simply had to, once I woke up.
By Razili Roy
Razili Roy is a college going student who has a penchant for multiple cups of tea and equally abundant hours of sleep. A failed art curator, among other things, she writes average pieces which may or may not end up as poems. You can take a look at her newly started Instagram account (@raziliroy) if you wish to see more of her work. Nothing more than her work, though – she’s extremely camera shy.
Artwork by Winston Chmielinski.