October 30, 2012

One poem by Prathiba Wilson

Body of Lies

A tremor jolted through my body,
I woke up with irrepressible anger,
Like a blotch of ink spreading through placid water,
The doubt crept through me.
What if you grew up in doctrines of lie?
Lies become your truth,
Running through every web of your vein,
Etched in every cell of your brain,
Every sinew will cry for lie,
Bones can be broken, not your conviction about the lie!
How do you transform your body of lie without regenerating it?
How do you regenerate it without killing it?
Will drowning in the expanse of sea cleanse the lie?
Or burning down to ashes smoke the lie out?
Could truth and lie be the bipolar opposites?
The invisible line connecting them through the centre of the earth.
The absolute opposites holding each other’s hands!
Could it be the face that can’t see the back sculpted in the same body?
I was a floating balloon swollen with air of doubt,
Looking for a needle in the haystack to prick and release the air.
If I travel through the line to the other pole,
Will I find the truth (needle) I was hidden from, or,
Will I find the lie (needle) I was warned about?
If truth and lie are bipolar opposites what would I find midway?

Is truth a necessity or the luxury of the avant-garde minds?

A commoner that I am,
I decided to rest my body of lie and will myself
back to the slumber,
A slumber which rested on the truth I believed in
and the lie I never knew of until a time,
A time when truth became a necessity
and I had the luxury of avant-garde minds,
An avant-garde mind that knew which pole I stood guard of!
For that I summoned the forces of nature, because
I believed in them bringing me closer to the truth
than I could myself!

Prathiba Wilson took to writing to funnel her wandering thoughts into a creative pursuit. Her native is a small village near Kanyakumari, currently settled in Chennai, India. Her previous works have appeared in Indian Ruminations, Marco Polo Arts and Kalyani Online literary magazine. 

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