Submitted via email two weeks ago by a mystery guest, I asked the writer for a name, a brief bio, or anything else I could use as a background for RELATIVTY OnLine readers , but he or she declined. Only the name Jyotishman sits at the bottom. I received several poems this past month, but the visual images of this one stayed with me.. as I’m sure they will with you.
He grows older
Just to become a snail
And inhales the frozen vapors’
Of hundred years
He sells his head
In an “x” mart
And searches absinthe
Like a poor Camus
With all the discounts he could afford
Buys a ticket to Auschwitz
To meet Jesus on a Ghetto
The same Jesus whom he met
On an empty confession box
Some years ago…
Even Jesus sells his nails
Of his head
Of hands
And of the soul
Absurd..!
He grows older
Just to become a snail
And when he tries to
Break the shell
The restless wind whispers
“now you can walk
On the edge of a blade
Isn’t it blissful?”
In the streets of Bohemia
Snow covers them all
The dust the blood
And tears..
With a pale woman’s grief
The city cries
And he tries to find the rules
Of the game
Some tried before
with a sinking ship
to cross
the river
“what is not reality”
But when the survival rate comes down to zero
He remembers
Sylvia did the right thing
She put her head on an oven
For freedom, not for
A damn discount
For
The
Ticket
Of heaven.
(c) JYOTISHMAN
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