Sleep wherever is most convenient for you.
Whoever and whatever is left in the morning,
take home. Be kind. All the world is yours for
the taking, long as you know that your little heart is
theirs for the breaking. Leave lipstick on their
china and on your letters. Make sure they know
that you’re a mariposa, blue as copper sulphate,
or blue as the sea, blue as a baby stilled too soon,
darling wench, and you never really intend to leave.
Set love free like a boat with neither oars nor anchors.
Trust it. Don’t trust yourself. Accept every familiar
that comes, even if one happens to be a goat. Forgive
less of people. Remember that things come in triptychs.
Be magnificent, like Coatlicue. You only owe it to me,
but break a mirror now and then, if you can afford it.
Kiss as much as you want to, and as few. Be difficult.
It will make you more desirable. If it will help you to
let him go, cut off your hands. They will grow back.
You don’t need them. You don’t need him. The older
you grow, the more you will amputate. Dance on stumps
if you have to, but don’t stop. Wear one item of red
every Wednesday and when death comes for you,
you will go as his bride. Burn every bridge you ever
built, and build as many as you possibly can. The one
that takes you home will be the last one standing.
Sing over the bones. Go slow.
Don’t forget me.
—
Prakriti Foundation in association with The Park is delighted to invite you
for the launch of Witchcraft, a book of poems by Sharanya Manivannan
on Friday, March 13 2009 at 6 p.m.
Venue: Leather Bar, The Park, Anna Salai, Chennai – 600 006
Dress code: Black
Praise for the book:
“Sensuous and spiritual, delicate and dangerous and as full as the moon reflected in a knife,” Ng Yi-Sheng, winner of the 2008 Singapore Literature Prize
‘Bloody, sexy, beguiling as in a dance with veils,” from the foreword by Indran Amirthanayagam, winner of the 1994 Paterson Prize and 2006 Juegos Florales
Sharanya,
Does a poem like this allow a comment? Conversation breaks poetry. And if we insist, we’ll find ourselves talking “about it” and not the “it” itself. Between the spaces created by this arms length distance, perhaps the best one can do is not to crowd out the poet. I don’t like sentiments that encourage conscious community but a poem that drives me back into my own solitude draws me out the most. But this, “the older you grow, the more you will amputate,” makes me look back and wonder about this feeling. Perhaps it is the age thing, or may be it is just a matter of the degree of kindness (“Be kind”), but the restless ego, the lurking vanity that churns this sentiment comes with its own parasitic staying power. So much awareness of one’s own kindness…! I am remembering reading somewhere along the following lines: “He stood in front of me, stared me into my eyes with a look of affection, embraced me with overflowing emotion and said see how beautiful he was.”
Backhanded compliment that was not, but just a little note saying when I come back next time, I look for more intensity, this time, the ego-less heart, not the threatening heartless ego that announces the self in the above poem. Not as a demand from a vain reader, but a hope for a rose without a thorn, or something like that…! :- )
Regards, Crazyfinger
Beautiful ode to one of the most beautiful woman ever. Truly beautiful..
Wonderful words!
ah, so lovely.
Ah. What an ode to someone who inspires you. beautiful:)