(Some notes on having gone missing)
I ran I ran
The land of deserts and lemons and
For it was the only true land
And they called me mad
They knew not where I came from
Iran, my true home
The land of turbans, pomegranates
My soft, sweet loves had not died young.
Your hard, broad shoulders had not broken.
I ran I ran I ran I ran I ran I ran
My one true love
Did not recognise me
All this useless grammar
Gimme a drag now…..
Gimme a poem that can contain my pain
My only pain
My enormous, grotesque pain.
I ran I ran it was my only option
My only escape from the prison of language
Of this awful business of you and me
Over and over and over again.
Of us and them
Of new and old
Of binaries and fuckwits
I know them all
I licked their asses nicely.
The night was young,
Swiftly threw away the cellphone and credit card.
And I ran I ran
Atreyee is a writer and anthropologist based in Delhi. She teaches at O P Jindal Global University. Her first book Time, Space, and Capital in India (Routledge, 2018) concerns her long relationship with the categories of time and space in the age of late capitalism. She is trying to research and practice Vaishnavism at the moment.