It has this most snaky wayof creeping up on me.
Toe to head.
Always
toe to head,
in devilish glee.
In its first lurks of landing
it deposits little needles of weight
into the valleys of my soles;
and my toes begin to feel
like frozen iron bricks
tied to wherever I lie, pause or sit.
And then it begins to sneak,
up my heels, ankles, and legs,
flowing into my blood stream
and into the heart of my calves
breaking them into halves
of strain, load and pain.
And then, in a fresh bout of frenzy,
it turns a dagger in my pit
and soon I begin to smell it
riding flames inside my nose,
my breath turns up the temperature
and my eyes redden to the heat.
My limbs succumb to the stranger
my head turns a bulge of cloud
my jaw begins to stiffen
and finally my shoulders accept defeat.
Soon… I am limp mass
following the stranger like a slave
around my bed, slumber and pills.
It has the most creepy way
of crawling up on me,
and turning me dead meat.
Nothing quite tames me
like Fever,
the bad old bout of Fever.
Painting Courtesy: http://www.kmberggren.com/
Dear Balpreet
ReplyDeleteI read this poem four days back and thought of writing the exact and immediate thought that came to my mind but somehow I stopped myself. After four days, I still think the same but I also feel that I can respond now. This poem reminds me of the heroine of "Romance", a film by Catherine Breillat. She is a character who has been my main reference point when I decided to write "Waiting for DropD". She is a person who is quite open and quite paradoxical about her choices. Breillat has painted a beautiful symbolic imagery of her mind. Till date, that imagery is something I have not been able to transcend. I am going to write in detail about that in my present series. But anyhow, coming back to your poem, this is a poem which is creating a maya of desire and eventual annihilation. It is such an unbelievable poem about which you could even say the exact opposite without looking odd. You could have avoided the fatigue of a persistent addict which you have assumed here but that is worth ignoring. I am smiling at this philosophical naughtiness you are constructing.
Sunil
You know Sunil,
ReplyDeleteThere is only one meaning behind this poem's creation - a very srong bout of Viral I just came out of. This poem came to me when it was coming up on me some four days back. I was at work and feeling so sick, so sick... that I wrote this.
From your message, I can see, as any creative mind, you are lending it your own imagery and perspective. I don't quite understand it because I don't know of the character you have mentioned but I respect your views as is anybody's prerogative. But sometimes, or most times, things get written or expressed with just a very simple thing in mind! In this case, a viral fever.
Dear Balpreet
ReplyDeleteYou don't need to undermine your creative genius and secondly, once the word is created, it gets a life of its own. Being poetic is much more than being honest and I hope you won't deny that. I respect your honesty but a simplistic reason like fever can be nothing more than a catalyst. You are touching deeper chords and please stop denying yourself any credit. I don't think that world of poetry is governed by the rules of democracy rather the game-playing and aesthetics define what a poem can be. I am only commenting at this particular power of the word that comes from you. Your poems speak much more than you can consciously ever try.
Sunil Aggarwal