Ritika Prasad

Soundless

7

back

Apathetic Wellbeing

The ruinous disembowelment of divine dreams, of rose tinted rice bowls on shimmering window panes. Afar they have germinated in fungal atrocity, fuming to mitigate outsiders. Belligerently hatching whilst the pain churns to form bitter mold.

The bitter taste burning hole on putrid tongues, repeating che vuoi? Only to seep into empty spaces; all remaining the remnants outside silver gold orbs of crystal vices, to gape disenchanted at dry veins and creased eyes.

Now and again the listless voices shriek in mass apatheia to the blows leaving stains on muddy lanes and green woods. The water breeds contorted scales and venomous gills, asphyxiate and embalm the guilt in sediments.

Fathoms beneath how tinged with violence, sheds the crustaceous wellbeing into pitiless herds, above with banner and pride, amorphous and naïve thirsting wombs to grow unsoiled fragmentary tenets.

Limp and heaped, shipped and strained in pretty porcelains, fumigated. Now and then the muted displaced bounce off from teeth and bone.

*****

Soundless

Imagine a castle unsettling, long corridors of cold sorrow.

Malevolently posing a demeanour of narcissism; past etched on lucid walls, remembrance diminished to rubble.

Pouring salt on their own psychological wounds and dwelling, through inadequately on their real or imagined inadequacies.

Stealthily lured across many constellations of prolonged days;

Days of sun air and earthly grins.

It was as though reconstruction of time, built a mausoleum of greatness, the pain of it numbing like an acid sting.

A moment of complete submission, to forgo clutching yesterdays;

An infant pulling at the breast. Shying away in shame is relieving,  beneath the humorous dark.

*****

Wing

Disobeying gnarly wakeful thoughts, the moist bedroom slipper like cold rubber fish clung to the blue tipped fingers.

Crouched beneath the mushroom sink; guised in virtuous primal authority, the opacity of processed gravel dissolved in an upturned olive glance, into olive hued Neverland.

The day driven liquor gasps ardent, pressed against breasts of utter turmoil. In privy the angst of stone fire and bark feed rebuked and cast, aside the upturned new being, seen in daze amidst too many light breaks.

The thin legged ones crawled up the polished pieces, conjoined atop fissures of mud and wind, up-toward the sappy disgruntled lamp.

The rubber skin fell silently on thin, tiny rosy wings on the marbled terrain.

The rest washed away with water.

*****

Proud

Long shadows that cast forth with such malignant vehemence; Creeping atop polished skin to screech in regularity.

The negligence ripening in their clammy conscience,

Forms into that infectious melanoma reigning all.

It has now, late, swallowed the cadavers of; disembodied dreams and the voiceless incessant pleas.

Perceive! From beyond, the wavering fingertips like

Dried wheat in yellow water frames.                                                                          

Montage of mirages foster numbness as the;

New world awoke in its crib. Persephone dreams.

Set in stone the inner monologues; snail into depths further below as the thick sycophantic shadow, reddens in its pace;

Spitting out rocks to halt the light.

Image courtsey: Ritika Prasad

Ritika Prasad has been pursuing M.A in Film Studies from Jadavpur University. She often illustrates and writes/translates for local little magazines and takes interest in videography, mythology, painting and penning poems.

 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *