“Day”

Ritwik Chaudhary

I.

Triumphant: it overlooks all benign things,

As shade over an overturned bin,

In its glory Man discovers a semblance or a feather

To recognise as his purpose,

Or build his life with;

At office: he sits and thinks,

At work, therefore, he is disciplined,

At play, sound; he is truth insofar as he exists,

Rationality is his purpose: the spirit which guides,

Has guided, great and small,

Has made his world what he has seen it as,

Has made him what he is:

I am my name, my true self,

I am who you see,

I am what I know, what I see,

I know no other, I am the greatest creation 

I have built,

The clock chimes and breaks into history,

It laughs as David stands against Goliath,

It remains, the past,

It is noted in literature

That one has the potential to read,

But never did,

Focusing on tomorrow, for it is prudent,

Whispers of the clock, the great manifold and

Time's orientation, as you walk by

Thinking of a book or a person,

This is all life is,

Or will be,

This is all.

II. 

Thinking of tomorrow: artists,

As one expects of those who care about noble causes,

Rather, hope to be noble men,

And tell us who our ancestors were,

Beneath stones, but beyond our piece of sky,

I must tell you they are noble,

For I have tried to be too,

But find their company a debauchery of the spirit,

Paradoxically, like my own,

For example, the renaissance artist

Walks towards destiny unperturbed,

I see him, and merely look elsewhere,

For he seems to be on the right path,

I avoid the philosopher,

He is written about as he speaks,

Often agreed with, although his thoughts oppose our reality,

In fact, they speak directly to us,

And when he speaks of his failures,

I nod in agreement, and carry on

To other features,

The artist stands before the dawn,

Awaiting the glory of freedom,

And has no description for it,

He now knows what it means,

But will not accept its invitation,

Knowing it to be a prison,

And that one never comes back,

He watches as far away

The light of day walks upon the wooden floor of immortality.

 

Ritwik Chaudhary is a writer and an actor. His writing can be found in RIC Journal and Unlikely Stories Mark V, among other places. Literature to him is a form of reasoning, although one where all other reasons have ceased to exist.