The Visit

He was sat in his bucolic leather-back chair
shrouded by a haze of obliging, benignant air
not by virtue but possibly by the smoke,
that lingered with an aroma of pleasant hope.

As I entered the room, I remember, he shot a quick look,
Sizing me up from head onto the foot,
He couldn't make note of much so he started right away,
A seemingly harmless question, how was your day?

Reasonably well, I recall muttering out loud,
Not very interested in his persistent spout,
And as I continued to recline away to merriment,
It was not before long, the dialog wasn't reminiscent.

I now continued on a path of beleaguered ferns,
trudging along the trail of the redolent soil,
fresh from a showery spell of nature's love,
lit with the sunlight underlining the canopy above.

And I continued onwards, lured by a sense of nostalgia,
By, an inexplicable desire of seeking long lost love,
Until I reached a tree that separated from the rest,
In that it was home to two bluebirds warbling in their nest.

The father then came, a beautiful father he was,
a ring of green around the neck and hood of satin white.
As he continued feeding, his young his prized catch,
they kept chirping and warbling in their colloquial delight.

And the forest , like a utopia of uninterrupted bliss,
Sat back to admire this little relationship blooming amidst.
And then, rather serendipitously my eye wandered to a pond,
murky and shallow, it begged me to respond.

As I leaned over onto my reflection, it leaned back at me,
a gasp escaped my lips unconsoled by the sudden frenzy,
that surrounded me unrelentingly, getting ever frenetic,
It was my face alright, but the eyes were of a heretic.

And the forest was now its primordial self,
under a setting sun, with clouds bulging and giving away at will,
tormenting showers that muted the benevolent trill,
of the bluebirds that flew in search of cover, away from peril.

Throbbing guilt suddenly pounded in my veins,
delirious thoughts scrambled and reveled in my pain,
And I still didn't know why this dream of such promise,
Was now turning into an abject nightmare, an undeniable abyss.

And then, played a requiem that flooded into ubiquity,
And right before I realised, my father's body, I saw paralyzed,
lying in a crystalline coffin with red roses and orchid wines,
Just the way he wished to die, I could never realise, such a heretic was I.

And then, as I began to plead for mercy, begging freedom,
from this ethereal nightmare, this bestial prison,
A sudden impulse of energy ran through my forehead, like a concussion,
and every little nerve rejoiced in almost sudden gratification.

And I found myself now, suddenly very wide awake,
hugging my chair, behaving childishly innate,
Dr. Freud purposefully smiled , and sat me up straight,
"Well, you know my son, it's almost never too late ... ".


Kartiek Agarwal