THIS THING CALLED LIFE

 

Not just a gap between birth and death,

Not just a process of drawing breath,

Life!, thou art can’t be confined to semantics,   

Thy psychosomatic prances defy all logic.


Groping blindfolded in thy jumbled attic,

Rummaging through contradictions, frantic,

Unearthing dusty relics of the past,

Kicking my own shadow, in spell thou cast.


In uneven pitch, you hurl thy bumpers,

Foxing with googlies and take to cleaners,

Thy streams polluted by ideologies,

Leaving me hollering in own idiosyncrasies.


Moving with thee to culmination of thoughts,

Fighting a war with those ‘oughts’ and ‘nots’,

Drugged and dulled, tied up in knots,

You call  shots, I am reeling under thy plots.


© K.Radhakrishnan

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