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Showing posts from August 4, 2008

poem by m k harikumar

Myself

1

I am not language;
only the first alphabets of a
primitive script;

In their bid to split me into
alphabets and words
the schools stacked my head,
mind and body with multiple
phrases converting me
into a mannequin.

But I turned into a lone
suicide squad separating
myself from languages;
I moved on with sharpened passions
among the doomed establishments;
still I didn’t become a materialist

2

I am a sentence with words missing,
always yearning for meanings
When dissolved in letters, an voice
reminds me about my real self

However in my fright
I could not but destroy
meanings

3
When butterflies flew around
I too joined them as flying verses

The butterflies which were also
equally scared of meanings
were in a frantic plight
for a way out
and I too became a butterfly



4
There is now darkness of the night
The anonymous voice of the darkness
The orgasmic delights of darkness
The primitive legacy of darkness
The whispers of the dead in darkness

The varied tunes of those who never
settle down in a single body;
The nutmeg trees …

poem by m k harikumar

Myself

1

I am not language;
only the first alphabets of a
primitive script;

In their bid to split me into
alphabets and words
the schools stacked my head,
mind and body with multiple
phrases converting me
into a mannequin.

But I turned into a lone
suicide squad separating
myself from languages;
I moved on with sharpened passions
among the doomed establishments;
still I didn’t become a materialist

2

I am a sentence with words missing,
always yearning for meanings
When dissolved in letters, an voice
reminds me about my real self

However in my fright
I could not but destroy
meanings

3
When butterflies flew around
I too joined them as flying verses

The butterflies which were also
equally scared of meanings
were in a frantic plight
for a way out
and I too became a butterfly



4
There is now darkness of the night
The anonymous voice of the darkness
The orgasmic delights of darkness
The primitive legacy of darkness
The whispers of the dead in darkness

The varied tunes of those who never
settle down in a single body;
The nutmeg trees …