A man, sadly

Job looks out at me-
No- eyes are not windows
but wells.
Its gaze evokes dreams of dread,
emptiness, and hell.
Yes, hell is not flaming but
Black;
Nor shrill cacophony but
Silence.

And we all hover around hell-
all of us,
looking in through the one lens
that has frozen hell in motion
and in life:
Job looks out at us,
an infant shroud in his arms,
no longer in a father's embrace
But as an offering of defeat
To God...
and the gods.

Flesh crafted in the likeness of God;
ripped by the destruction of man.
Bracing ourselves to be questioned;
having no answer to a man.
The Lord gave,
and all is taken.
A sad day for man indeed-
though as Job was honored-
no relief shall there be
for the Job of our hell
and our purgatory.


I was intensely taken up with this shot, and my gaze lingered on it for the longest time. What struck me were two things: the sheer feeble size of the dead babe, and the expression of the man. The man is amazing: his wide hands that could have been bathing and holding the babe dear, were surpporting the weight of his infant that has been shot dead instead. His strong fingers were spread wide, as if trying to feel as much of his child as possible for the last time. A strong man he seems to be indeed, for, his face, though obviously conveying sheer anguish, was stoic albeit helpless in its demenour. His eyes are the ones which held mine the most: I feel ashamed to be privy to and intruding upon his private-yet public-moment of mourning. Life for him will never be the same, and we just gaze upon him, and leave. He wants to weep, but will not, for the dignity of the camera.

this is inspired by the unexpected, turbulent end of an acquaintance.

A cat dead.
Padded paws sprawled neatly
Paws that would not
leap again.
White and black ruffles
gently
In the wind created by the
speed of cars
Cars which swerved
Or tried to.
With woman sticking out,
saying,
'I will not look'.

A man dead.
Soul and light crashed
by metal and bark.
Legs sprawled
That would no longer
Sprint
Or pump to meet the ball
Or his daughters.
His ring rolls out
Along with the tears of the
Woman
who says
'One last look, my baby'.

The distance lolls away
On the rocky bitumen.
Black and white seeps
into coarse glitter
Wedged in the crevices.
The further far...
The further near.
Strings that strain to
Grasp
what fading memory itself
holds dear.

a cat was seen lying dead in the middle of the north-south highway
it looked almost beautiful-i wonder how long it would last.

(this is not to be re-used or quoted without permission)