I want words that are not old,
Not used, worn-out, stale and outdated.
Words fresh, unheard of before
Something like “sumpcrurituioslyclinkwibidifegism”
Full of pronounciations
Like a Sanskrit incantation
Tired of the same groaning squeaking wheels
Of ‘language unlubricated’
Screech screeching ineffectively..
I want words that would
Express my deepest fantasies
And the myriad colours in them.
Understood and not gibberish
Responded to, reacted to,
And criticized just like any existent clanging…
My tongue and vocal chords
Other paraphrenalia of speech production
Are capable of a thousand resonant sounds.
My language should sound like a wave
Crashing uninhibitedly on unassuming heads.
Like the awesome abracadabra
Rousing the voodoo dolls
And the zombies
Like an African witch doctor’s hollering
Like the primordial “Aum”
Heard in the depth of the night
And in the buzzing radio.
Like the muezzin’s call
At the breaking of dawn
Like a crashing collapsible door
Like thin sheets of noisy tin
Like a burning paper
Like the telling of beads
Like a crumpled plastic bag
Like a blade twanging between teeth
Like a carpenter’s router
“hARR hARR” earful of noises
My utterances should turn heads, cranky and curious
I lack the murmuring bees and growling dogs
And the chalchalchal of a brook…
Why should I settle for
Ever-repeated clusters of phonemes?
“Lunatic” they call me
For lack of a better word.
They tone down the force
Cut and size thoughts
Clamping their minds to strait-jackets
Of available words and meanings.
Language has killed my clairvoyances
The pregnant silences are now filled with babbles
Emptying my lungs out like vacuum
Intense passion sounds like a mere windy whisper
Moans, groans and screams can reveal more
Arbitrary language and conventional meanings
My world lies twisted bleeding
Every word becomes a convulsion
Spitting itself out with a cough
Spaceless and limited
My world lies breathless
A garrotte sliding down its neck
Unknown and killing
My indignance toned down to suave phrases
My frustration interpreted like grey theory
I am tired and crawling out of the lack
I want to fill the “spacelessness”
With my own original non-conforming yet-to-be-born ______s.