Monday, February 1, 2016

A. V. Koshy writes


The history of killing is not 
the history of dying
I too have hailed myself
on a lonely street
told myself stories
stories no one wanted to listen to
Guilt spread like perfume on a handkerchief
Most of the cloth got wet
I became afraid of crowds
walked on through empty streets
empty corridors
empty football stadiums
theatres, empty music halls
places of worship
where I could not meet my killers
or kill
only hear the sound no man can hear
time scurrying by on the feet of cockroaches
It was groups I was staying away from
and mobs
but that left me lonely
so I searched for more love
though I had never lacked being loved
I did not know any more
what I was searching for
having been corrupted
by the desire to not be a part of mankind
as much pride as the desire to be part of its killing hordes
but it was so difficult 
to not be
led astray by my desires
Now I wait for the event horizon
knowing it does not alight
on the backs of
the ones whom I want it to
for them to come and pull me out
but silence is the only hand that extends
to make one wait and watch out for what it portends.
 stock photo of man shadow - Under a shadow business metaphor for living under a powerful leader or the little guy or small business competing against giants as a businessman facing a huge darkness shaped as a giant man as a symbol of a bodyguard or guardian angel - JPG

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