Friday, September 11, 2015

Glory Sasikala writes



WHERE EVEN EAGLES DON'T DARE

In the silent place in my mind -
you don't exist

your narrow, four-lined
square, boxed
suffocating point of view
does not exist

your inability to comprehend
any world beyond that
does not exist

your funny little
self-righteous speeches
from there
don't exist

your rigid rules
of shoulds and should nots
don't exist

your presumptuous
misnomer
as grandeur
your pomposity
does not exist

your crooked sadistic jokes
that thankfully
I don't get
don't exist

your unquenchable wrath
at my freed soul
flying high.......high!!!....
and your helpless inability to control
me
does not exist

'Cause in that little space in my mind
is a laugh
of unbridled mirth
at your childish
and futile efforts
to chase shadows
and try to conquer
the UNCONQUERABLE.


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5 comments:

  1. This is the opposite of the philosophical proof of existence put forth by René Descartes, " I think therefore I am" -- in this case, the formula wold be "I deny your existence therefore you must exist." Denial, in psychological terms, is a form of repression and one of Anna Freud's original defense mechanisms. However, we should probably see Glory's poem as an expression of self-assertion rather than a clinical condition.

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    1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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    2. Yes, this poem was self assertion. My husband died in 2008 and I've chosen to live alone and be indepedent and work for a living. This poem was an outburst of anger against a boss at a previous company I worked in, who found it rather interesting that there was no visible man by my side. No, it wasn't for him to read the poem, but like I said, I was angry and hurt by his behaviour, and poetry is my rather harmless outlet for anger.

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  2. The longer I read it, the more I felt the speaker missing the person of whom the speaker mentions. Of course it could be a genuine disdain, but for me, I see rationalization of lost love, whether parent, or friend or lover. "A poem is a window. And what we bring with us when we look out the window determines what we see." It is the ambiguity and multiplicity of interpretations that gives poetry its beauty.

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    1. No, Seoul. This was pure disdain. I've been a widow now for 9 years, my husband died in a road accident in 2008. We were married for 22 years, a good marriage, as marriages go. :) It was disdain for someone who could not see that I was in pain at losing my husband, who thought he owned me just because I worked for him, just because he felt there was no one to protect me. Ah...this is hard. That's all in the past. The said man is dead - he died in 2012. And as for me...I'm in a calmer place now and peacefully growing old by the day... :) What remains is the poem.

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