I am simply imbedded in a time now!

Beyond everything

there are the fingers of time,

combing my hair as a woman

tying me with her only future

or

like a stranger with an umbrella

with a wrap and a spectacle

a smote on  my door

of past, past and past.

despite the world changing in an obvious way,

I always remained in a curtained womb

that folds and unfolds a story

as lullaby does

make me yawn  for a blanket

a fear.

 despite the world disinclined to its orbit

I have my slumber inside the womb

that hit me at the brain

dorsally, I dose off

before the story ends

as granny’s, as demon’s

and time blankets a slumber on me

thus the story ends.

Why does a slumber hit my cortex?

always at my door step?

hit me like a parable!

Why do I sleep upon the atlas,

spread like a woman!!

I meet my time bracketed     

at a ticket counter or in a queue

enveloped like a letter

that scribbled an old love.

Well dear its me,

another  picture in a magazine

a daily return to home at night

a signature hunchback

a sleep at the bookshelf ,unread.

I am a man slept

for a time unknown to him!

.