My boat floats
in motion,
in fear,
in transience.

Beyond is a shadow,
past was a memory…
the ways dusts move in the mountains of an unknown territory.

The showman is pulling the paddles,
the cold wind is beating my chest,
I am just a wanderer failing to count my rails.

They hang the demons in a redundant shell,
they burn the forests in an obscure of a spell…
This moment of utter disappearance,
my photographs are empty and they are hanging from the nail.

The waves of a dying river flatten the shores of distinctions,
and it’s strange that our evolution fails when we walk through the nights of pragmatic illusions.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Prashant Swaminathan.