The Dying Dandelions


I have never spoken of it.
The secret, although not shameful on its own, makes me feel ashamed.
It’s like being able to see among a group of blind people.
You want to describe the beauty of the world or dissect the violence of a man’s motion, to complete the cracks of a woman’s expression but you can’t: without feeling acutely guilty.
So, here I speak of it—

I preyed on promises
Like a thoughtful vulture
Of culture and cheap compromise
For facade of feeling was important
To alter the illusion
That gift-wrapped horrors
Are comedy of errors
A reality divided
By the cause and the causality:
For a broken man
Does not bleed in the mirror

(Perhaps heaven is a heart
That is heavier to hold)

I know my poem feels like practice
A frozen hand
Combing through rough edges of life
To even out the answers
So music may appear
Vibrating crystal clear
A tear tainted with tear
Like lyrics of King Lear
Alas, this exercise
Is not to exorcise any answer
But to await and witness
The silent decay
Of solitude

(For has any mind every mastered
The art of interrupting its own soliloquy?)

I thread my threshold;
Some common words are never welcome,
Words that suture out from chafed lips
Carried over as gangrene
For whom mind’s a myth
And memory a mind
Words that evolve as themselves
Over and over
A curated cancer called as a cure
The next iteration
The final step
On life’s drowning ladder

(Do they know that the ocean
Is deeper at the top?)

Beyond the compass needle
I discover a horizon
Painted in haste
Made of waste paper
And a pulverised sun
It stretches-this myriad moment
This suspended time
This grotesque mask of shattering beauty
Like a dragon’s yawn
And near her maw
I dance: daring death to dandelions
Till the fire came
Like algebra on music-sheet
Unreadable
Exquisite
And I was reborn
A particle
Singular
Similar
A sinner

(I summarise in theory
That a poem knows more of the poetry
Than a poet does)






Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *