Burns Like Water
San Mateo, CA
2021, Junior, Poetry & Spoken Word
i.
honeysuckle;
a deep colored blood trickling from crevices wisteria, blooms of bright
petunias,
twenty, fifty, three a lifespan begs more
at dawn they still are babes and they can still break bread with
the liquid
glowing embers press firmly into my skin like hail bullets mercury in my mouth
metallic alloy it gorges on my cavity a dull toothache
sharper now
i scream though i can still submit to my masochistic shower
the liquid
rātrē1, a boat beckons unbothered and undisturbed unnoticed by the celestial
beings
it glows with a faint bioluminescence tucked away like heat brewing a coup
amongst the underwater creatures
there is no gentle lull the sea simply is an unlit fuse
the liquid
those who left fingerprints on my soul they are the ones, the ones part of the body count
the liquid washes their fingerprints away (dirty work) scrubbing till there’s grime
under nails
the liquid
there’s water in Hell, just not the type you would think, steam billows in clouds as that of
tangled abalone
the liquid
ii.
…is not enough. the people’s battle: nature versus nature’s children, often we forget our roots, we
are this very Earth, yet we still tear our bones and muscles apart limb from bloody limb? Fervid
anger is rising in the people but is it enough? The so-called grown-ups at the table are doing
nothing; the ice melts and the core bleeds, still willfully ignorant sheets fall but we don’t give
a shit; land crumbling is not enough, i wonder if we’ll start caring more if…
iii.
the liquid is oil
Hors d’oeuvres are served first
tinkling like polish the copper can only be described as buttery
next, an entree of the Gods
i stuff my face with fat paper bills
i eat, eat, eat, away
and then, because you think the liquid is still oil
i set the whole fucking ocean on fire.
1”Night” in the language Gujarati
Reflection
I am angry. I am in pain. I am hurt that humans resort to the monetization, demolition, and exploitation of Earth’s fruits. I not only see a steep incline in money’s influence on virtually everything, but I see a lamentable decline in natural beauty and wonder. Throughout the seasons and the years, it seems that Earth is losing breath and its ability to regenerate and flourish. After writing this poem, I’ve figured water can take on many different guises. Friend. Enemy. Nurturer. Killer. Most especially, victim. Another realization: if mankind is a part of nature, and we are destroying nature, we are destroying ourselves; there is nothing more tormenting than self-annihilation. In my poem, I tried to encapsulate the perplexing essence of water by leaving it nameless (and traceless). In my creative process, I looked at this scenario from various abstract and literal angles. How could I convey my hurt into words, letting the reader feel exactly what I did? Water is the lifeblood of this planet, yet big business and corrupt politicians keep lying through their teeth. Worse, citizens (myself included), keep holding on to hope that by some miracle, climate change and pollution will resolve themselves and end up being a footnote in history. I’ll write poems like this to inform, and to feel as well. This piece is an ode to that pain and sadness. I hope that whoever is reading this enjoys it, and I hope it jolts someone to metaphorically open their eyes. Sometimes the only thing powerful enough to wake us from our escapist fantasies is our reality.