An Appeal
He wants this building of marble to be unimportant
He thinks symbols to be too dull
I think of this marble, however, as a blatant declaration
Of love that is beyond immortal.
He blames the ruinous kings
He makes a case for the invisible stains of blood
I rather wish for the man to think of those
Who spilled blood here believing that they are loved.
He thinks one is too naive to see that
This love is spitting on the poor
One hopes for him to realise the parts of life
That have roots in only devotion, pure.
His love wishes not to be demeaned by this monument,
I only wish for him to be near human.
Nausea
Everything means nothing, that is obvious to you
Yet you stop and smell flowers at every turn
Were they put there for you to enjoy, you wonder
You take a step back, horrified that you should think so.
You feel uneasy, you enjoy it.
Then you walk on and find the world empty again, for you.
But you see flowers yet again.
They are the same, unyielding, promising, soft.
No I will not smell them! you say.
Are you making a choice to betray your true self?
You walk on without smelling them.
You feel uneasy again, you enjoy it again.
What are you supposed to do with beautiful flowers
In an empty world?
If your choices are distinctly different, why do they
Make you feel the same?
Multi-Ownership
I open up the door to the room
And I start taking things out and I am fast
Drawers are opening I am flinging shit everywhere
I do not care about messes
I am trying to find nothing
I am simply creating messes
I go fast until I have stripped the cupboards bare
You think I will put things back in the right order
That the cupboards will have neatly folded stuff in them
No creases no crinkles no loud noises
Gentle opening and shutting of cabinets
And I do that for some
But I am sideways for now
I am put sideways in my mind
Now what is straight what is crooked
I made me so I cannot tell the difference
There is no room to step anywhere
I am standing on a tower of things
Some of which I put back
But I cannot be expected to put things back
as fast as I take them out
I start wading through the things
But cannot continue wading
Too many things
Too much wading not enough strength
I sit down on the tower of things
I heave I pant I am not fit for this
I want to exit the room and leave and never come back
Is that too much to ask for, things? Things! I said
What a waste of space I am said
to say
One thought at a time one word after another please
I have stopped heaving I wade again not to make it very far
and I sit down and pant again and heave again I am unfit again
To me said I is told I cannot jump and exit this room whenever I want.
About the Poet:
Sanika Dhole is an undergraduate student studying English Literature in Mumbai, India. She has a specific interest in absurdist and existentialist literature and poetry, with those being the main themes in her writing.