THE BATTLEGROUND...

THE BATTLEGROUND...
The chaos was not chosen.
It crept in unnoticed
through the ravines of routine,
through the ravages of complacency,
through the tedium of familiar coupling,
through the homework , through the mortgage payment,
through the Sunday movies and annual vacations,
through the eroding of fantasies,
through the cooling temperature of a crumbling relationship,
through the breakdown of “mutually beneficial multipoint interactions”.

Then the fights began...
over rights that have been overlooked,
over favours that have not been returned,
over sacrifices that that have not been recognized,
over responsibilities that have become burdensome
over an ardour that was not stoked,
over “delicate issues of mutual concern”.

Mediation was not acceptable.
Matured people, independent countries
Term mediation as interference, “loss of identity”.
The white flag was not waved.

The bolsters snarl at each other,
The boundaries are demarcated.

One heaving nation wets the pillow;
The other is silent in tight lipped withdrawal.
The wounds of the past weeks glisten...
Skirmishes of innuendos, hateful words,
pleadings and uproar of sudden barrages
are over.
The beginning of an end
is neatly packaged
in the deceiving oblong envelope
lying innocently...
propped up against the silver frame
of two laughing faces.
The unclasped watches, in their familiar places ,
keep time
across the gulf of disintegration
as the new borders take formal shape.




The innocent troops
aged nine and four sleep in the next room,
limbs twitching in nightmare
of an impending war.