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““Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy, / And moon-struck madness.”

The day is coming soon.

It is kicking off  heavy boots

loosening the jugular knots

uprooting itself from the
sodden cement

and roaring like a jaguar
smelling blood.

A trembling pledge tears
through me

A rag cloth will wipe

screeching lines of
chalk that once  defined me

No watch on my wrist,

time has played it shots

no malignant obligations,
only vilipended shouts.

Howl my ballistic soul  out, let Zozobra burn

pluck green-yellow fruits
from serpentine vines

thunder  barefoot on sun-scorched concrete

lie face down till puddles
dissolve the acrid salts

drink the  quivering dew till dams threaten to burst

then burst into a
ballad-song ,

never mind the hush!

drink in cold rivers as if
born free

make slurping noises at
pompous ceremonies

toss hair free to stream in
the storm’s fury

lie on the beach with
midnight’s memories

-a promise leading me
 to the snake pit

where I truly can be

unfit for polite

©Reena Prasad published in Vayavya

9 thoughts on “Promise

  1. Ah the unbridled spirit of a poetic soul!! How it longs to break free from the binding fetters of “propah” behaviour, isn’t it? It’s such a blessing that you can go through a catharsis in this way. At least that way semblances of “sanity” will help you walk through the cemented jungles and brickwalled prisons of “civilized” living without too much destruction:-) 🙂


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