I Slept Before The Clock Struck 12.

By Tanmayee Paruchuri

ACT I 

It came as if it had already been invited 

I had prayed for your peace not too long before it arrived 

I felt like a child waking up to find guests sitting in my living room

“Why did they come?” and “what did they talk about?” 

Would be questions reserved for later that day 

But before I could greet,

Before I could ask “How long has it been since you arrived?” 

And “Is there anything you would like to take?”

It looked at me as I peeked from the crack of my door 

Giving me a smile like he was someone I had known 

Had he carried me when I was once a baby? 

Have I met him in my mother’s village? 

I was not sure 

But that all-knowing smile took me back to the sounds I heard in my sleep 

The long-drawn breaths that didn’t belong to me 

The spinning eyes 

The subtle—

Pungent smell 

I couldn’t leave that room in which you were held 

Oh, I knew all too well 

And 

I would’ve prayed like never before 

If it was the marvelous cure 

My palms would be calloused 

Nails would splinter out of my skin 

My fingers would break and branch out 

I’d pray till god’s patience ran thin 

And everything I held— slipping through my fingers that day 

I prayed it could feel me too, 

I wanted to hold on so tight

That our knuckles would crack into place; inseparable.  

There may be no physical sensation 

But your soul must know:

I never left that room,

Not even to this day. 

I cowered behind that door 

But I could never close it shut 

It wasn’t the smile that scared me 

But the colors in dust 

It took me back 

To the sights I bore before midnight’s gleam 

No matter how far I’d draw my eyes 

I could still see you— hear— feel 

The strength of a weakened man… 

I was told to call for you

Which I did not 

Had I, would you have taken it as a plea or a taunt? 

And your call would’ve come and echoed in your mind 

Or perhaps from the divine 

But never from your lips, 

I didn’t have it in me to believe such miracles exist. 

I saw it leave, holding a hand 

In my drowsy state I forgot it’s plan 

All to be woken 

Hearing it left with you

Before I could scream,

I was leaping from that teakwood slab 

Falling on stone 

Dragging my hands across the coarse land 

The same hands that would’ve prayed for a chance 

Were now calloused by god’s plan.

In your wake 

I felt it for the first time 

The mark, the weight 

The legacy of man 

It was an epiphany of sorts 

To know I’d live long enough to see them leave 

Perhaps one day 

I’ll be standing alone 

Better not them, and me. 

ACT II

I prayed that night for the impending to stop 

And that is— what happened 

When midnight struck against the clock 

Did your soul slip past your mind 

Before the final moment— the final hour— 

Wouldn’t it be a shame 

To wonder if my prayers had worked in other ways 

That the torment would turn out as a simple ruse of fate 

And you would tell me “All will be well” because 

Oblivion was no match for your stature— no match for you 

And you’d rise victorious 

Dancing on lily pads.

The reason I never called 

Was because I knew it was not fair 

You wouldn’t howl back, you couldn’t.

I was afraid to crack and let our last moments be stained by my forlorn state 

I was holding onto grains 

The remains of scorched land 

Depriving it— keeping it unscathed by waves 

I do not know what it means to accept this. 

There is a lack of certainty 

I believe it to be disbelief 

Didn’t it happen last week? 

Or was it a couple years ago? 

I find my mind 

In the coils of time 

Mistaken— 

Thinking you’re still at home 

And your absence grows

Like vines, growing on the stones of my garden wall

So close yet, I do not know where you start 

Or how far you stretch 

You’re very much alive 

Just simply out of sight…right? 

I’m still in that room 

Waiting to feel god's righteous hand 

The one holding this world of mine by strings 

To simply let go and whisper 

That life is mine to beat, 

This was all a test, 

And now you’ll come back to me.

Come back home, please. 

By Tanmayee Paruchuri