Night Bleeding

Ujjal D. Nihil


I bled when i bled there was no sound. When i bled the cause of my bleeding sucked out the sound. As i bled i remembered how we had been bleeding. As we had been bleeding there was no way to speak about it but bleed. But bleed. But bleed. But then the bleeding stopped. I was still alive to see the blood bore itself on my pale skin. I was bored too and i felt bad about my own blood being bored. I realized as i bled i knew i was bleeding and it was something i knew. I realized as i was bleeding it was good because i saw color. This color was color and it was good. I knew all the things i thought were good had no color but my eyes crashing. I whispered this to myself. You are good blood i said. You are really good i said. My heart happened as it were and it throbbed and made me good all over again. But i complain i said to the blood. Now you've stopped and i complain i said. The blood said good and bled more but by then the night was bored. I lay there bleeding without blood speaking to me and telling me when it would end. I could not move but the blood looked at me as it hissed down my collar and started circling the mud.


As i bled the blood working another face shifted. I called a friend who had lost his head. When i told him about how i bled he told me to hold it. Hold it. Don't speak he said. This is my time he said. You don't know how i bleed he said. Let me be he said and hung up. The blood working another face breathed ash and made me imagine: another blood running away and pumping air every time it fails. The failure of blood is in the horizon. The blood fails as another blood pretends to succeed. The blood overcomes as the silent blood warms the skin. Both bloods don't matter because it is inside and bright. As i came down the stairs it was impossible to bleed. So the blood held out a palm but the other palm got scared and the whole house bled. When a house bleeds nothing can be seen.


I hope you know this is real blood. I hope you taste it when no one's looking. This blood took long to breathe. This blood loved but couldn't soak its letters. This blood knew everything but couldn't pull the plug. This blood came in to the blood that made this blood think and asked what were you thinking. This blood knows nothing and knows that is all but it knows night is the blood of all: The tide of blood crashing against each other and the blood lifting the faces to the sky and asking with invisible blood how we are tied.

Ujjal D. Nihil lives in Calcutta, India. Some poems have appeared in elimae and breadcrumb scabs.