January 10, 2017

And She kept dying happily everafter

I write to die,
To die after pouring life on the paper,
To let the creation be alive
And float, stay or fly
It’s a process of consumption
Emotion, resurrection, consummation
But I get reborn, anew, lighter
It’s a compulsive murder
Killing of the wrath or exuberant joy
A constant tussle between the heart and the pen
The pen pulling out the words like mining something
 It’s a fight and my being looks forward to this struggle
To get churned, and after it flows entirely
I feel dead, neutral as if
That poem never belonged to me
I forget the words
And read it like a narrator reciting someone else’s words
I belong till its birth
And cut off the umbilical just after it
The baby gets raised in other nests
Other hearts
And I enjoy to die
And my epitaph says

And she kept dying happily everafter

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