Anil

At 17-years-old, student poet Anil broke into poetry and writing only a year ago. He employs a stunning voice that spans different styles and molds itself with a beauty to the topic of choice with a maturity that exceeds his status as a high school senior. The New York student enjoys playing soccer both in real-life and on his XBOX360. He also plays the violin and volunteers in his community. His favorite authors include James Joyce, and his favorite poets include Allen Ginsberg.

To kick off 2015 are four outstanding works by student poet, Anil.


 

To My Son

I

You don’t have to hide, from me, behind your plated bedroom door;
I know what you know and have felt it too; don’t cry, for I too recall
A certain time that I felt stinging pain, like bodies dropped on a tor.
But I came out stronger, so let me teach you: let me, in your mind, install:

II

Never forget, they too are as lonely as you, the solitary lamppost in the blustery cold
Of winter; they too long and desire the sun’s heat. Nature, I suppose, wants strongly
The Saharan heat, the fires of other bodies, wrapped together. But, my son, be bold!

When he and he and she and she jockey for each other’s presence, they mold
Their own physiques, equal to how much they need each other, yet you sit longingly.
Never forget, they too are as lonely as you, the solitary lamppost in the blustery cold.

And when they see fit to pierce your heart with pictures upon public walls, do not scold
Judas, for he was only human, too easy to be manipulated, all hurting you wrongly:
The Saharan heat, the fires of other bodies, wrapped together. But, my son, be bold!

Still, you will hurt and cry and sob and weep, and your inner sanctum will be sold
Out on the gallows of emotion and you will languishly cry for your mommy;
Never forget, they too are as lonely as you, the solitary lamppost in the blustery cold.

Remember you will live no longer than your allotted years; fear not the fool’s gold,
And steel your heart against the ice; the ice itself is weak and does not love longly.
The Saharan heat, the fires of other bodies, wrapped together. But, my son, be bold!

Never tremble, never falter; hold your head up and – as dreaming – behold
The power of inner walls and iron brains, the tools of resisting softly.
Never forget, they too are as lonely as you, the solitary lamppost in the blustery cold;

The Saharan heat, the fires of other bodies, wrapped together. But, my son, be bold!


Ashen Fire

Blaring grey and white
Fill open parallel spaces

Silent men lost in their
Own little sound-worlds

Yellow blurs brawling over
Inkling of cracking road

Whiffs of the unwanted
Hideously snare nostrils

Angry people coast down
Open concrete hallways

Towering rock sheets with
Open slits that show inside

Bright blue crushing waves
And blurs of white of pillows

Blue meshes with blue, yet
Never stopped to be seen

Cyclical orange cough smoke &
Cover slinking camelhair jackets

Faceless skin inside pants
Salute yellow dashes on black

And a little twig of bloody red
Lies in the street, and cries

And the green stem grasps at
The blue and withers and dies,


Audubon’s Nightmare

Quiet forest in the night, the expected
three swallows in the bush – hiding
amongst the scratching leaves, with-
out being seen. I’d like to think, know they,
what’s out there. Human spits of amber spray
and sounds of music scream out, in fifth;
blood on their little little minds, all terrifying.
The three swallows, blood on their lips, affected
by a screeching child’s primordial scream,
rush to flight; flight of only fantasy,
a hushed escape. Flights of lore and gore,
as the mechanical music begins to seem
like loved sonata, harmonizing in beautiful rhapsody:
Thus the bloodied birds lie writhing on the forest floor.


_____ High School, 20__

You’ve seen this face before, haunting your memory – it’s belonging to nameless peoples that we see throughout our own progression of time, those who

saw themselves burn brighter than their natural light could provide in
Grecian hubris belonging to demigods studied under their paper books,

saw grandiose images of floating flower-colored balloons streaming down over rafters
covering students in graduating gowns,

spoke three languages to impress someone who spoke four, but only really cared about
herself and her nation, not those nameless borders,

drafted pages and pages of résumés in fractured fonts and graphics that pretended to show
years of work, but it was all laziness encompassed in Times New Roman,

wandered from social circle to circle searching for power not love; for alcohol, not kinship
for different genes, only to be accepted back so quickly,

needed his stomach pumped like clogged toilets do, simply for the party and lack of
logician’s inhibition that should be duly named “compass”,

spurned pure love of another for based reasons of ignorance not fit for his countenance’s
structure, leaving him starving pained sleep on teared couch,

raised his hand in tight angles with strained taut muscles in the need to be right, reflecting
the symbol of ghosty-covered men and fiery crucifixes,

wrote lies in blood upon networked walls and destroyed each other with argentum
representations of one’s drunk, whilst indulging the same in unholy night hours,

wore crosses but willingly forget the gold on the chain on the neck when the other of
another gender burns the heart with fantasies of beauty, personalized,

plastered common spaces with etched color memories while the same humans sit in
blanketed mediational sittings, feeling powerful for the color on electric walls,

fell too easily into love, and cry when denied, and hate when discussed, and cycle themselves
in pain, interminably seeking what cannot be sought as teenagers,

grew accustomed to rich caviar of another’s heart; friendship’s gifts that shower, and then
bite and growl when they self-feed rotting cabbage willingly with no shame,

loved trite student-chosen uniforms, but also loved to hark on specialty as their badge of
valor against oppressive zombie-inducing disgusting offensive society,

wrote love poems and novels seeping with images of perfect synched beating hearts, yet did
nothing to fulfill their literary aspirations in the flesh,

threw speared insults at each other – racial, sexual – then are shocked and cry and beg and
plead when cut down by higher powers in compassion for the speared,

controlled another with sugar imbued words while sharpening her knife along his sinew
granite back before carving her name in his chest with violent happiness,

conspired against the gov’ment in fits of righteous anger against double-handedness with
sharpened words by sharpened tongues for ideas that knew only birth,

fought over one pretty boy with lion claws and words, but only succeeded in scratching
precious pride, not winning a pride from the hyenas,

went to hospital a decade ago, throwing all of us into disarray, suffering the sharpened
knives of an angry administration that smiled to give detention,

coalesced on elementary playgrounds to get lost in smoke for a while, and flee looming
assignments and approach nirvana for a while, and flee responsibility,

sat on benches in school-fields to talk to kiss to feel to enjoy to sweat with another to burn
the heart to lose themselves through another and smoke of love,

laughed at the differents, in wanton disposition and need; to feel powerful and mighty and
stand on the shoulders of those who cannot stand, to self-pyramid,

shunned their friends who had greater potential then those who lived out sordid greyscale
dreams, tinged with burgundy jealousy of dying women,

named themselves to groups in pursuit of greater-than-self-identity, yet lacked real inner
comprehension for her own body’s limits and thus the self-name,

claimed inclusionism, yet denied others under shadowed pretenses, beer, fire; all led to child-
like bravery of soul, and the gall to utter “I love you,”

sought his lips and wrote a helixing story believe to his blind ears and deaf eyes that knew
Asian eyes, and yet left him, body bruised, shame-inundated, out in the cold,

shared homework over three bodies, laziness as master, no desire to learn and think for
themselves, hubristicing, only to be pummeled by power-drunk professors,

skipped class to slink to the woods in the morning’s blaring engine of stellular whispers to
drink vodka from Poland Spring bottles in the act of bird-flipping,

wrote poems in Spanish class to relieve himself from creeping boredom brought upon by
colorless Lorca and Cervantes, and thus shut his mind,

were lost, sadly, among sparking tropical turquoise to shuddering waves and shuddering
parents and sobbing brothers and candle-lighted friends,

sat seductively on metal chairs, facing hormone-laced boys (saturated with computers),
accidentally – perhaps not – raised eyebrows, faces, and perhaps more,

founded go-green clubs to assist nameless natives in the green jackets of land, yet zealously
bow to corpocracy and refuse to participate in samsara of material,

fought for rights for their people, to bathe in the sweet of Ayn Rand, but loved to orwell the
voices of their detractors – yes, even the sincere ones –,

used school computers in stupid adrenaline rushes to make bomb threats; stress was a factor,
administration claimed, but so too was a dash of rebellious genius,

asked for the demeanor of poverty in twisted pitiful need for pitying pity, yet hid jewels
beneath ragged clothes and pearls behind cardboard signs,

and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved

too much for human bones to make themselves whores to verbial souls with more daring verbs;

 

 

January 2015

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