Of the dead from ’85

Of the dead from ’85 Mukkadan visits, often.

We ride the blind-drunk Yezdi through town again,
midnight streets dark as altered blood.

I twist my wrist, we surge,
the rain slants down in cold sheets.

We laugh, louder than the bike’s beats.

We reach the place.

I must go on alone, he says, through cold and wet.

Lampless bike, lightless streets.

I will follow, I reply, a while later.

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8 thoughts on “Of the dead from ’85

  1. Morbid, but good. No more FB? Was hoping to see a post from you on Kuthiyottam @Attukal Pongala

    1. Thanks, Suma. Not coming back, is what I think about fb at this time.

      1. That’s a shame. Hope you change your mind.

  2. My Facebook posts were mostly reactionary, responding to whatever was coming along. I was playing to the gallery a bit too. I always claimed I wasn’t bothered about readership, I was writing for myself. This is the right place to see if I was kidding myself.

  3. Well, don’t take yourself so seriously,then !!!!

    1. It is a bit serious really. A lot of wasted time on FB. Too many things to do. Time is running out for me. 🙂

      1. Ok. I do enjoy reading your writing. Best wishes either way

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