Prose Poem
Knotted
beings
we draw lines… parallel ‘n alongside
the many poisons of corporeal existence
staining junctures now ‘n then
with some legs crossing over
the borders in time… coming together
to draw certain conclusions…
we know to connect the dots
disavowed ‘n tainted vague
by few obscure truths
manifested in humble clusters
harbouring bloated egos… dangling bright
in dawn’s broad daylight
we circle vicious perimeters
barring safe — the pledges of harmony
in unison… through the rubble of
rotten virtues.. salvaging benignity
from humanity — making swift exits
thru black holes ‘n recurring sentience
and we return to the lumps
in our throats¹… throbbing, wailing,
lamenting the liberation of mortal coils
entrapped by a jealous sun dumbstruck
‘n tired of hiding all the magic
we carry inside of us…!
Viraji Ogodapola ©June, 2023.
Provoked by Paroma’s daring prompt:
- Lumps in the throat — being equated and made akin to the persisting blotches of black stains visible in the image displayed by the prompt.
