Wednesday, February 1, 2012


winnie panicker

My mind is scorched, and dry in this

Unbeaten heat, so parched

And cracked, breaking through

My veins intact.

And it is tight and pressure just

Heaving up and raising high,

And a sense of breathlessness is engulfing me

So much twisting my neck, so hard.

The breeze once so cool, shriveled and

Chill, now it beats on my face,

So sharp, the coolness is only a feel of numbness,

A feel? No, sans-feel…

The flowers only stood so still and

They no longer swayed or danced, smiled,

Or sang their once so beautiful songs

For me, now in this midst of unearthing solitude…

A sense of fear, so chilling, as though

A prickly ice point sliding through my veins

With the coolness to melt, yet with the

Sharpness to wound me and pacify with the cold…

This phase, just glaring onto my face,

And the mockery of those dolls in front of me,

I look at them and they at me, I stay motionless,

numb, and they, they laugh their clown-ly laughter at me…