Treasure Island

Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

blood red apple juice


I flung pointed pebbles leaning on the balcony rail,
gnawed incessantly at my soft finger flesh,
poked at entangled knots of hair mixing long
fingernails with scalp zone,
spit loads of saliva on pavements of stale concrete,
kicked violently at loose chunks of sand lying
unattended,
tore every bit of transparent cloth in close
proximity,
trampled on infinite insects that lurked
infuriatingly across my
way,
devoured solid bones of calcium, crushing them with my
teeth,
peeled crisp wall paint in plenty with incoherent
strokes of footnail,
ripped triangular caps from compressed bottles of soda
drink,
spilled jars containing carbon ink on satiny covers of
the bedroom mattress,
plucked masses of grass blades rolling languidly in
undulating landscape of
the garden,
transformed pencil ends to distorted junk by
repetitive chewing,
added tones of salt to fruit juice before consumption,
pedaled my bicycle till a river of sweat descended
down my neck,
revolved my body in clockwise journeys at electric
beats of music,
trimmed waste hair emanating sparsely from twin
nostrils,
applied scented lotion to the back of palm to
revitalize skin,
roamed aimlessly through solitary streets at the onset
of midnight.
Weird situations of nil work had made me fidgety,
Obsessions for exorbitant adventure seemed
to be fast fading,
I strolled at fast pace across the periphery of my
fruit orchard,
Clambered up a tall tree bearing blood red apple,
Snatched it deftly from within its house of green
leaf,
Drank sweet juice charged with small pints of
ravishing flavour,
From deep cores within its delicately tender heart. 

Submitted: Sunday, August 17, 2014

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