The Jeweller's Son

"If it's up there at the hallowed gallows,

it doesn't deserve my wrath, does it?",

said the tortoise inside the cage

to its friend in the cage beside.

The night that took the railway and the western landscape away from the ticking sticks, pushed his cerebral puzzles to unfold in the opposite direction and empty into a blunt stone pit.

There,

he glistened some,

he listened some,

and whistled the rest of the way

till the uproar at the tunnel end became too loud to miss.

"Electricity was their savior.

Water was their salvation.

And some dead bird's meat kept the savages alive

till they could walk up to the middle of the crowded crossroad

and leap up in the air and not come back."

I remember the boy whose mother was killed by the police,

and the stains on his face that shone in the streetlight

making him look as divine as divinity could be.

I don't remember his four-lettered name.

He told me that the fishes that died with their eyes wide open

could abduct our souls, and transmit it to someplace else.

He also told me that if you watch the sun set,

it doesn't come back the next day;

a new sun comes instead.

Polite daylight does not fight for space in his new home.

He thinks he was a white horse in his previous birth.

He doesn't believe that air is fluid too.

He can stand on his toes for more than an hour.

He thinks that there is a kind of spark between the t and h in the word 'death'.

He wants to marry a woman with diabetes, because his diabetic mother had blue eyes.

He wants to buy an hourglass without any sand in it.

His eyes would remind you of Google images of black holes.

I also remember what he had written on the canon ball

with white aerosol spray: celebrate;

and the dockyard where we had met,

where an empty bottle lay on the ground

with its mouth turned towards me.