by Arun Anantharaman
[box]Sometimes all it takes is a moment to experience the magic of romance, so much so that even priorities can change. Like what Arun Anantharaman captures in this poem.[/box]The dim traces of bright lights burning in the corridor
And street lights fading outside in the morning’s first rays
Come slowly into view as he steps gingerly out of their bed,
Squints at the clock in the living room, and knows time
Is not on his side, but reasons to himself, his friends
At the court can jog around, gossiping an office tale or two.
So he lingers just that bit, long enough to return silently
To hug an unseen angel, holding on to a cosy blanket for dear life,
Pretending to hold off an intruder trespassing her dream,
Moaning and cussing underneath in that disturbed fashion,
Peculiar to sleep interrupted, twice, by an alarm set to ring
For a duffer who thinks an hour of tennis beats waking together.
Arun Anantharaman works with a management consulting firm in Bangalore. He’s always wanted to write a novel, but it’s taken him a while to figure out that it takes more than just wanting, to actually write one. Start with several short stories, for instance. And put it out there. So, that’s where he is at now – trying hard to dedicate enough time every week to write, rewrite, shred, write, rewrite. So on and so forth. He is inspired by Jamil Ahmad, the Pakistani author who wrote his first novel at 79. While he certainly hopes it won’t take him that long, it is nevertheless, a possibility.
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