Out of my grey cells Springs
A Current of Vytharini-
Colouring my thoughts.
Feelings surge from within
Like hot blood
From a beheaded trunk.
Impotently
Watching both,
Like a widowed woman,
I shed tears
On the whirling confluence
Of polluted thoughts
And aimless emotions
That is my life,
Mother!
Will ever
My thoughts be clear?
Will ever
My feelings find a refuge?
Will ever
I be a master lever
Of my own forces?
If I can’t
Mother,
Why don’t you shatter
This criss-cross
Chaotic existence
Of a rickety model
Of 1935.
***
I am directing patients to hospitals. Where is then the question of my possessing others and getting patients cured through them?