I cannot RIP


Words, borrowed from others
refuse to settle into respectable patterns
Ashamed of the inadequate mastery of thoughts
raging in a vacuum of lost hopes
refusing to represent a hollow me
in the absence of concrete action
consumed by helplessness
They fling violent questions at me
questioning my sanity
Why I still hold a pen
amidst hallucinations of iron rods in my hand
and see visions of castrated drunks
Why I insist on hooking a tiny finger
into a slippery loop of reason
while dangling over female graves
where devils with short, frontal tails revel
and jeer in a celebration of anarchy
and see not the flaming fury of revolt
passing through my brain
but only my naked thighs.
©Reena Prasad 29th Dec 2012


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