Interrogation

 I cannot see the sun right now

Only its pink print on the cafe wall,

A hint of the passing day

In this part of the world.

There are no black clock hands,

On this incidental screen,

Only human shadows sliding

Into unnegotiable recent past.

Time is never full of us all,

It plays its feeding ritual,

In slow motion like a python.

It is as I write a poem

That I can feel this invisible serpent

Consuming my cells,

Ripping off hairs from my scalp,

Gulping down my crude emotions.

It is just one hair at a time,

One heartbeat at a time,

One eyeblink, one breath out.

I wonder: do I taste good at 45?

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