i am running
from this fever, from this chase,
i am wringing cold hands that have shriveled
in the non-appearance of a lofty moon
that i have envied from the beginning,
i am lighting, lighting another difficult breath
before the mist sets in all the spaces, and take
it away, leaving me aching for sun & rain.
i think that the laugh is often the loudest,
after an early intake of poison —
the dark sky is not my friend, the passing steps
are not my enemy, the half-mast heads do not
look at me — a new stranger in a strange world
with a side-glanced smile, a fine-frosted figure,
fearing fire, blue in its soft touch on my skin.
the evening races through this course of fright
as i keep rehearsing the lines, repeating ritualistic
words and intonations to control the panic,
plural and passive in its grip on my chest,
still trying to run, from you, from all of you,
from the shadows of these days,
and saving a little of madness in my tiny fist,
and a little more of kismet where perchance
none exists.
© Anmol Arora
Image source (No more than thoughts and Pain by Oscar Orellana)
An accompaniment to on loneliness and on self-sabotaging
Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads
Had a conversation with the ever-wonderful Sherry at PU, wherein I share a bit about my life, interests, inspirations, believes, et al. I guess I shared more than I intended to do. Ha! You can give it a read here. If you would like to communicate or exchange ideas with me, you can reach out to me on Gmail or Instagram.
You’re one of the hottest writers around, you know that?
This is startling in its precision-blow:
“i think that the laugh is often the loudest,
after an early intake of poison”
Beautiful: “fearing fire, blue in its soft touch on my skin”
“and saving a little of madness in my tiny fist” … That whole last stanza — you are so good.
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This is incredibly potent, you capture the feeling of anxiety and panic with such precision! Especially like and resonate with; “i think that the laugh is often the loudest, after an early intake of poison”..
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Enthralling, as always!
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That close is terrific.. there is a certain sense of desperation to the running while clutching kismet in one fist..
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Laugh is loudest after poison…wow!
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Such a thoughtful piece of writing. i am particularly struck by the balance of these lines:
the dark sky is not my friend, the passing steps
are not my enemy
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There are gods in our manias, and the poems we write to expose & explore & expunge them are prayer-vessels, bloodings and containments: A dangerous energy crackles through the words here, as if surrender were cataclysm: but running is just a metaphor for a dancing there isn’t a name for, yet …Good work …
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This is a mad, mad , mad world isn’t it. Ripe, ready for sour pushes. Here is hoping your writer lightens up and goes with the flow. Love the shriveled clenched fist refusing to let its holder smile.
..
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I feel the unrest, the frantic need to escape. Too often we try to run away from our pain clutching the heart of its agony. Love poetry that makes me think.
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This is a strong write, very engaging… the angst and panic woven through is palpable. I have suffered from panic over the years, so this stanza grabbed hold of me:
“the evening races through this course of fright
as i keep rehearsing the lines, repeating ritualistic
words and intonations to control the panic,
plural and passive in its grip on my chest,”
Don’t know if you suffer from panic, but you sure expressed it well there. The physical grip of panic is frightening. It can compress the chest until breathing is nearly impossible.
I like your work An,ol. I also enjoyed your interview with Sherry for Poets United. Your candor was commendable. Sherry interviewed me for PU way back on October 5th, in 2011. Sherry is skilled at the interview.
BTW, I like the way you wear your hat… 😉
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Wow, thank you for sharing this piece, it’s incredibly strong!
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