Drowning with Swadesh Deepak

fingertips tingle

not in anticipation

but in fear

of touch

that means pain



attempts at writing

reading, gone awry

words make no sense





Drowning

as I close my eyes

I see the missing writer

and his schizophrenia

laughing at me

from the palace of Mandu





I am in a nightmare

with open eyes

a salty wetness

trickling down my lips




clothes, books, pages

closing in on me

typhoons of the mind

drowning my notions of mine




I am on a crucifix

bleeding ink

it is now just

a matter of time.