How do I peel these layers from my body
marks made by sulphur of worldly wants
greyish ash of burnt illusions on my feet
how do I wash my stained sooty skin
The sentences I write come out jumbled
the words I speak talk of riddles and needs
I want to argue with them but my voice agrees
from where do I borrow the language of truth
Like tall glasses of bitter potent wine
this existence enters my head and pounds
drumbeats of lists and tales of misfits
when do I let go of this drunkenness
I'm silent but my molten pain boils inside
I'm walking in lines when I was born to meander
I'm stumbling though I want to jump and fly
why can't I grow lightning like forked wings
Remake my heavy bones with feathers and flame
give me the hearts of thunder and wild falcons
dilute my thirsty blood with rivers of stillness
then maybe I can be free to meet my other self
Wow, what a piercing poem this is. One of the best ones you have written. Makes one really ponder on what we are doing with our lives and whether we are being true to ourselves. On a lighter note, creating templatized learning with a submission date looming large does tend to evoke the feel of walking in lines when one would love to meander .
ReplyDeleteHehe...yes, you've hit on the exact secret of my sudden burst of creativeness :) There's nothing like unrealistic deadlines looming to bring out the futility of this worldly existence!
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