A sandy irritation in the throat,
A startling question that billows out of nothing
Into every space in the mind,
Maybe;
Like a prosthetic reminder of your leglessness,
At the moment you want to jump;
Like a leak through your parlor roof;
Like the abhorrent taste of salt
accidentally spooned into your tea;
Maybe.
that.
You squint at life, "Who am I?"
The answer unfolds -
A realisation in staggering resolution
An explosion in 3D digital clarity,
Right by your ear, in your eye perfectly clear:
It is your absolute placelessness
- the tagless item in a well-labeled lot,
It is a revelation: you are tolerated; loved not.
- they sidestep you too easily-
Like a bleak kiosk on the roadside;
a blurry point on a long road
to the next important town.
They notice you to avoid you-
- an unwanted ungainly bush
on the telescopic path to the sight of prized game.
Their eyes bore holes through your inessentiality
To points, to people, to places beyond you
That matter more. And phew!
You seamlessly merge with social darkness.
And like a cruel spur, the cold breath of seclusion
Becomes ice trapped in rock
Cracks the rock and calls to freedom,
Traps faint light in its prism
Absorbs, brews a portent charge-
Then, of itself,
Explodes in a white hot beam;
Becomes a screaming firebrand born of nonentities,
ignited in nondescript spaces,
Fanned by piled breath held too long,
Becomes a Self-Stoking engine
To burn insignias into the hard skin of history
To imprint in every memory
A truth hitherto unknown.
