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““Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy, / And moon-struck madness.”
Milton
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
me
unfit for polite
society.
©Reena Prasad published in Vayavya
