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A long ascent towards the impending doom


Saurav Maan

May my future self betray me

if I live long enough to change.

Untangle one wrist from the clasp of the other

and flee, illuminating nothing.

May the names I assigned to things

no longer fit.


What I call land will bleed out beneath her feet,

and what I call law will soften in her hot, living hand

like a piece of ice,

a drop of water.


Enter history if I am a myth.

If I'm history, I'm not going to mention myth.

That's the issue: we use the same few words

over and over again, as if each one signified something different.

"Stay," a voice begs, and I freeze.


Is this what it means?


How will she react

When I ask her to run?

What good would a history do her in the first place -

what good would this tight, foolish narrative?


If I live long enough to no longer touch

terrain I don't yet confess fertile with my hands

may my future self term it so

and get to her feet.


This is what it means.

Confused between passion and profession, Saurav would choose procrastination - even while writing a one line bio. Or an anti-bio.

Saurav Maan
Saurav Maan
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