God was Murdered

It was like any other day. Boring. Life’s been like that for the last decade since I got kicked outta college. I overheard two teenaged girls whispering standing next to me in the Metro & it all changed. Boring transcended into tragic. In that moment I was reading Hemingway’s  A Farewell to Arms . The day turned into  A Farewell to Porn . For the rest of the ride back home I was in a reverie. I went back 18 years, the first occasion I got the glimpse of this mystical thing. I was 16. It was in a boarding school. Long before I watched "The video" I had seen adult magazines like debonair & chastity and some crude material a.k.a  made in India  kind. I also remembered one of my most aesthetic memory of porn. I was in my first year of university. There was a bunch of us desi boys living on rent in the shadiest suburb in Melbourne:  the  Footscray. I walked into the living room & saw one of those films playing on our ancient television. All the boys sit

                                              I dove into a dream of you deep into the night Kept swimming till the morning bird cried Was still bumping into old memories when I woke to a sun smoking bright Dark clouds engulfed my eyes, ears trembling with the thunderous death knell I was too awake to know you’ve gone to sleep to never wake again Now I’ve gotta get used to the change Now that you’ve flown to a better place Thoughts breaking me in the already broken places I walk about your home; in every sinew I can sense your traces I feel the shivers entering, opening your door Watching Djokovic vs. Federer, without you asking me the scores will be such a bore When we brought your cold body & grandma pulled the sheet off your face Seeing you still the clouds in my eyes broke into tears like rain I won’t embarrass your soul, will celebrate you, not mope & mourn You were rustic like the flintstones, lived life like the rollingstones