Kajal from yesterday,

Still clings under my eyes after I’ve woken up,

After I’ve washed my face with an ayurvedic concoction,

Like little drops of rain cling to the clouds just before they give in.

So do the dreams.

Tiny tidbits and remnants

From last night’s dreams will haunt me for the day.

It doesn’t matter If I create layers of memories to try to forget what little I saw,

And whatever miniscule I remember.

Between the two the constant irritation of trying too hard to recall,

What came first

The clock or the…

That’s all.

It will come back to me in flashes and visions,

When in the middle of mechanically pressing F4 and F10 at work,

I’ll be jolted into another world:

One which only comes into existence when I sleep.

Like layers of kohl

That try to bid me adieu in the morning,

Smudging the under eye and making me wonder if I hadn’t been careful last night.

Just like my dreams.

Just like my way laid dreams.

3 thoughts on “Kajal

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