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"Involution" by Prakash Kona

Prakash is the author of Streets that Smell of Dying Roses, as well as the forthcoming Pearls from an Unstrung Necklace, both published by Fugue State Press.  He completed his doctoral studies with a comparative study of Chomsky, Derrida and Wittgenstein at the University of Mississippi, Oxford, MS. He is a former assistant professor of English Literature and Humanities at Eastern Mediterranean University in the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus.  

Prakash lives in Hyderabad, India.


© 2004  Prakash Kona






Integral to life is being. A consciousness emerged from the chaos of universe and it happened to be me. I am just another context to be understood within a group of contexts. Did the universe make a decision before the point of my emergence into consciousness?   Was I another consciousness in the states of the universe? A universe where time is not an issue except to the consciousness endowed with a body that can feel pain and look for the source. I was conscious of a wind from sea that did not touch the waves. I am written as destiny in the palm of your hand. Were you the wind that was from neither sky nor sea? It came from Japan the wind from a movie of Kenji Mizoguchi. Humanity that is deeply hurt is relieved through the balm of compassion. Silence succeeded all conversations that brought pain to the sender of the message as well as receiver. The silence of waves that are untouched by wind. The silence of wind that brushed waves with hands of a dream. The lotus smiled when a silent glance pierced it. The seer of the lotus smiled as well. Remembering a smile is to remember the rain of summer. Midnight and noon are partners in love. The nightmares of living with the dead never leave me alone. At noon and around midnight I was conscious of the smile integral to being of the universe. In quiet rooms we came to terms with the splendor of horses romping through evergreen forests. Mizoguchi has a way of dealing with sadness that reminds me of Nazim Hikmet the revolutionary Turkish poet. Sadness is a gift made for a world that refuses to be happy. The awareness that sadness can be given makes it beautiful. In that beauty that comes from a body beaten by vicissitudes of life there is a gift waiting to be given. The only real gift is what hurt could have made possible. The unhappy world is hurt but the gift of smile is withheld in the palm of the hand. It cannot give its sadness and therefore it suffers. I give you my sadness but you fail to understand the logic of sadness. There is a Telugu song that says that you must laugh in life as in death because once dead you cannot laugh anymore. The universe is there to be laughed at at all times. I laugh when I remember how you shuffled personae from that of a clown to a lover and a child. It was the magic in your expression that did the trick. The magic of the universe is that it does not experience the consciousness of being nothing. I do. The knowledge of my need for love is a profound reminder that I share in the nothingness of the universe. I was long dead before I was dragged out of my mother's belly. I woke up from sweet death. Love connects me to the universe I lost in the birth of consciousness. Life is sweet and it makes me sad to think that I am only a particle of fluttering consciousness in the sleep of the universe. I sleep only to know you. My waking is a preparation for the gift of sleep I give you. I am a slave of the suburbs. I am addicted to rains in neighborhoods where nothing works. Everything is cold and gloomy. Like the universe I am forgotten. I live in the forgetfulness that hurts my sense of who I am. I am nothing in terms of the universe. In the world of people I project myself as an idea to be recognized in the body of a lover. In your body is the soul of the universe. One grand sensitive magician is this universe. Your body tells me that I press my ear against your breast. I hear the breathing of the universe. I expected it to be quieter for all its dark passion. Magic is the power of compassion that can rouse the sleeping universe in the hearts of men who lie in ignorance. In you I realize the truth of the universe. My headaches are a sign of the coming of the age of boredom. You smile in a mock sadness as you look into my eyes.







All poems are copyrighted property of Prakash Kona.






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