The reflection of the chair through the glazed tiles
Shows someone else sitting on it
Someone inverted
Someone so similar to me but in opposite direction
His head falls down towards the hell.

Lights, looking back at me from that abyss
Grey, his hair
His face, frowned and wrinkled
He looks at me and smiles back
Not sure if a smile.

When it’s the other way
I don’t see the green grass
Rather I see the dust under the furl of the hand rest
The web and the filth underneath
That never appeared before me before

The tiredness and pain of the chair
Bearing the load of in-humanness
And the old age of it that wishes to claim its pending vacations
And the ring that I lost three weeks ago
That winks back at me
The pearly dazzle that got stuck in the leg of the chair
And I thought I had lost it.

The lines of tile  connect my feet to the wall
The shadows and the reflections of the lights
And the mirage of a hole or a room
Just kept me fascinated so far
I forgot I am sitting…
Just sitting without any work or thought.

©Amaresh Swain

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