I slash at ghost wrists
Memory bleeds
You stick like glue.
I scored a foul
Long ago
And the ball hit my head...
You pin me down, still
And resistance flees
Like turtles on the receding wave
Someday maybe
Nut-like Ill crack
Sideways
Opening up to let you leave.
Posts
6 comments:
Why side-ways? Why like a nut?? (Sorry, I'm being way too prosaic here. But may be things don't need to crack for ghosts to leave?)
@Kama...
isn't that very subjective? maybe ghosts don't leave at all... who knows?... or maybe he just writhes within... tormented, because I refuse to let him leave... and the recurring tremors... maybe thats how my poetry is born...
parjanya....sweetheart u greatly remind me of someone lost in the room of rusted gyres...
a man could so much be a prison in his or herself... there should be a window for the anxious nerves inhale on the glass...
dont let go of this ghost, i believe it is he who's making you write...
lovely.
"I remember the time you told me love is touching souls... surely you touched mine... coz part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time..."
I love the turtles imagery. What's strange & interesting is that onek bikkhipto jayga thekey upoma gulo tana, like football (! never expected that one), and then turtles, and then suicide, ghosts, haunting etc. (Unconnected... but there's a growing academic literature now using metaphors of haunting and ghosts et al... Laurie Ann Stoler's Haunted by Empire... tarpor sociologist Avery Gordon's Ghostly Matters... drawing actually from lit. works like Morrison's Beloved)... jaihok, I suppose haunting could both be productive or not ... both in sense of ghosts and the past... (the bangla 'bhoot' draws them together :-) ) Thanks for this.
Fantastic! I just chanced upon this and I am in awe because of this little gem of a poem. Keep up the good work.
Post a Comment