Ambivalenceby Prakash KonaI wrestle with the gods beforeday breaks upon blinds, Mornings vagabond as music in a café, The stalker’s days are given to sunsets where dust camouflages the panoply of returning faces. So much said and hardly a point made the breath hides in latency of silence; Joy is a razor with blood lost in stitching moments into a garland of roses Witlessly we wander as crows in a town of strangers; Stones I use to break the spines of bricks stoned I’m as a streetlamp In the biting chill of a heart that mocks to keep alive The sensual fire of reason; A sheet of water separated you and I, To kill but not to kill, to love and to die, To make music and keep the cobra of time at bay; I’m a spasm if not a wisp, I like rice to be cooked Like flowers fill the garden of my hungry eyes; Everything I look at casts a spell upon me, For a partial viewer I’m reticent to core, Raking up words out of graves has turned me necrophiliac, I turn in my bed as a cloud tossed by winds, These scenarios pregnant with details do not vindicate me, I’m greedy for the life I deny characters of fiction, The certainty of others is a page embossed with names, Mine comes from artistry; I’m blind as a bat In a resplendent cave of underground seas, My humor darker than death, What has reality done for me that I must suffer pangs Of a soul in tatters defying reconstitution? I cannot make it across a stream I’m a sea at heart, The dryness in a glass of wine, I never looked for meaning, To arrest the moment, create a scission In the body at the edge of its personhood, I rave and am cataclysmic my verses are catacombs, I’m attached to living rather than life. |
Copyright © 2006 by Prakash Kona
