One middle class shadow wandering around the urban smog.
It’s so hard to believe that he is a killer
and just now he has killed a man with a blunt knife…
There’s so much peace in his steps and the evening is getting young with every crossroads he leaves.
Waiting needs to be done in obscurity…and there has been so many days that this is man is waiting for a proper shelter,
he has entered many…he has tangled his legs with so many bare and beautiful feet
but every time the wind stops blowing and it becomes a journey of remembrance,
rather than a journey of togetherness.
He remembers the first man he has ever killed…it was a monsoon afternoon
and the blood was seen through a caged window.
For a long time he has borrowed from his ghosts but now through this wandering and constant killing,
there will be nothing left to slay…
there will be no more knives to be struck like deep-rooted roses.
The shadow moves with so much more to say than we can actually perceive.

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Photograph: Edward Ruscha.