The Second Self by Priyanka Banerjee

You stare at me and I feel as if, 

I am a deserted desert within,

Waiting to be caressed by an aggressive second self.

Like dust or green foliage or grey smoke,

I expand till I touch God’s lips !

I bloom and then burst out and engulf my own  shadows

With an uncanny feeling of  restless re incarnation.

Oleanders ruin dreamy cells with the passionate urge of a mad  infant

Or a slain hawk.

Twisted timber floating upon grey water pierce through 

The colonized century’s awakening  corpse !

A dark peasant’s glance derives strength from the dance 

Of the groaning beast,

That sways and spreads up rays

Of brutal innocence.

They speak and die on the bed of lies

And cut off all ties

With the snoring whore,

Waiting for a tomb of sacred light.

A big, fleshy part  empowers a Tyrant’s lust for power –

Right to fight 

And to begin a journey forgetting about the sweeping tide

Of a bloody midnight !

Crows and sparrows aspire for a sadist’s last laugh,

That the sinking woman loves,

When water engulfs her white cells of pale breasts!

The sacred smoke engulfs the retreating  vampire’s swollen tongue of merciless blunder.

The second self emerges,

Though the womb is too burdened to bear with the catastrophic disaster.

I utter thy name again and again

And sing the song of treacherous hearts

And stolen dreams.

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