Poetry 2017 Longlist, Poorvasha Kar

Our Imperfect existence

Poorvasha Kar

Whisper to me endlessly, drunk
     On a strange concoction of
            brazen reality and truth
                                Dignify the death of the
                          hideous esse,
        that was a sore sight for eyes
And run out in the streets
   naked,
     Just as you were the day you came here.

Scribble love ballads on
         deserted streets
     Paint every door with graffiti
   proclaiming your insanity;
        For only the insane
  live life without metal chains
                snapped across their neck,

Not being,
branded as civilized beings
bearing several witnesses-
           Culture, Religion, Politics
Nothing more than mere pretense,
Nothing more than pawns.
 
Feel the little things
And breathe in their ferocity
And their existence will enshrine yours
Being complimentary to your insanity.

Hum melodies,
     For the bulbs that flicker every night,
  Always dying, but never dead.
      For the strands of hair that
            curl indefinitely,
    For the rum whisked down in a breath
         That spewed melodies in
             raspy whispers of death,
    For the overgrown climber across the wall
            That grew to the rust
          and dusty bones of nightfall.

And your melodies,
rejoicing our imperfect existence,
will be carried by the west wind
And reach my ears as a whisper,
drunk on our existence- raw and unrefined.

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