Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay

Slipping into my father as a room

The keys should be somewhere in there.
They are not in the bowl we assigned to it.
The bowl has ruby eyes of some animal,
ashtray & a dead fish. He doesn’t smoke,
or eat fish. There must have been a robbery
but I can’t point out the angle of incidence,
or the time. The balcony is shitty & small,
he is too smart to be duped by false images
on the internet, he must like it like this.

The fuck-yous of a grey parrot collide with
the roof, he did not have a grey parrot, either.
You know the drill, keep searching. I wonder
why the ceiling fan doesn’t kill it. It killed
a firefly last night, there is a grave of dust
behind the Chinese fan he bought in Amsterdam.
There, look there for the keys. Leave your head
in the bowl & take the heart if you’re going to leave
the door open, for the firefly or for anything
that feels like living again.





Ajay Kumar is a student & writer based in Chennai, India. He has served as an editor for Abhivyanjana Magazine, a local magazine aimed at highlighting the works of student-writers. Recent work has appeared in The Bangalore Review, Runcible Spoon, Plum Tree Tavern & Amethyst among others.

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