The Magic of Certain Things

The Magic of Certain Things

It’s bad that you are not here
In the moment, the ‘here now’
And it is all that counts
Your family says.

Yes, you nod,
‘I am not here
I am not here in the moment
And I regret it profoundly.’

The moment is a wonderful artifact
In your dream
A crystal butterfly in a glass vitrine
That you would like to own forever
You tell them with a laugh.

Truth is you get bored by their talks
And skip their chatter
For the love of things that mean nothing to them
Things you deem complete in themselves.

Around you, the universe is in its normal flow
A comet is blazing through the Milky Way
An astronaut yearns for a safe journey back home
A young girl is spinning on a dance floor inside a vacant hall
All at half-past ten, when you watch your last program on TV
And begin to slide into dreams
Slowly, slowly ever so slowly
Surrendering yourself to the stories of these
And other such happenstances.



I am Anil Petwal, a writer and poet from Dehradun, India.  I self-published a book of poems called 'A Boy's Juvenilia.' I am presently working on a book of poems and a novel. My poems have recently been accepted by Ayaskala and The Punch Magazine.