Shaurya Pathania

“The room has dull dark green walls,”

—with a line from Kendrick Lamar’s Alright

it’s a strange setting, the tap of the feet in
the hotel corridors echo inside the room.
The air conditioning is exhausting. I’ve booked
an awful room. A prayer could elevate me
or perhaps cucumber and curd would do too.
Nothing feels right here.
The telephone’s cord is bitten, probably by some orphan
mice, and I lack the strength to complain. I
could bow down to pray, to anything—the three-legged
chair, the stained pillows, or maybe the mirror too. I
may clasp my hands together, hands are for
praying and holding. They’re not meant for
hitting. I make my own gods, no
one questions me in this room. I will always remember
But if God got us then we gon’ be alright.
Amaltas envelop the concrete surface of the hotel’s street, and
yet I am bothered by dark green walls. Excuse me,
I just talk a lot and that too without any alcohol.
I should have spent the night outside.
A hotel room booking is a waste when you can’t dictate
a letter of love to a fellow human or watch
a leaf budding from a tired plant.

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Shaurya Pathania holds a Masters in English Literature. He enjoys poetry, food and sports. His recent works can be read on JAKE, A Coup of Owls Press and Urban Pigs Press. He is currently donning his flip-flops, to make him wear his shoes you can send an invitation @shauryapathani4 on Twitter.