Nitrogen Ice Oreos

I remember a young girl

just twelve

who once bore a hole in her belly

from liquid nitrogen foam

but she’s not here

I’m here

paying a boy

maybe sixteen

to blow a smoke biscuit

into my camera

because I am such an influencer

hiding in plain sight

Sita screams

Raavan guffaws

a deafening Lila unfolds

in merry-go-rounds fuelled by fury

“Stop the ride, puke is coming!”

whirling nani has slumped somewhere

stroke-like

Uncles bicker the 'Hunted House'

"Not scary, such a scam!"

The children stand still

crystalline, with kohl-rimmed eyes

They know - you can't pay

to see the ghosts

Bubbles, fat and lazy

drift from a seller's wand

like bloated promises

I aim for balloons

but miss every time

I miss the point

if there was ever one

And still

Raavan laughs,

cackles, an endless echo

in a carnival

where no one

eats a smoke biscuit