AMEETHYST

  ಈ ಸಂಭಾಷಣೆ  ಕಹಿಯಿದೆ  ಯಾರಿಗೂ ಕಾಣದ  ಮಸಿ ಚುಕ್ಕಿ  ಇನ್ನೂ ಉಳಿದಿದೆ  ಕಣ್ಣುಗಳು ಮುಚ್ಚಿದ್ದರೂ  ಸುಳ್ಳಿನ ಮುಳ್ಳು  ಚುಚ್ಚುತಿದೆ.   ಸಂದರ್ಭ ಸಿಲುಕಿದೆ  ಸುಳ್ಳಿನ ಸುಳಿಯಲಿ  ಸೋತಿಹೆನು ನಂಬಿದವರ ಮನದಲಿ  ಮನಸ್ಸು ಹಿಂಡಿದೆ, ರಕ್ತ ಕಣ್ಣೀರು ಕಾದಿದೆ.   ಯಾರು ಕೇಳುವರು  ಈ ತುಸು ಕವಿಯ ಕೂಗನು  ಕಿವಿಗಳು ಕವಕವ ಅಗಿಹವು  ಪೋಷಕರ ಮಾಡುವ ಶೋಷಣೆ ನೋಡಲು  ದೇವನೂ ಗಾಂಧಾರಿ  ಅಗಿಹನು. ಹೌದು! ಇದೆಲ್ಲ ಒಂದು ದೊಡ್ಡ ಸುಳ್ಳು  ಜಗವೆಲ್ಲ ಸೇರಿ  ನನ್ನನ್ನು ಮೌನ ಮಾಡಿಸಲು ರಚಿಸಿದ ಒಂದು ವಿಸ್ತಾರವಾದ ಕೃತ್ಯ  ಇದೆ ಪರಮಸತ್ಯ  ಅಷ್ಟಕ್ಕೂ, ಕವಿತೆಯ ಅರ್ಥವೇನು? ಪ್ರಾಸಬದ್ಧ  ಸುಳ್ಳಿನ ಕೋಟೆ ಅಲ್ಲವೇ?

  Hungry was my heart, craving for love I never received. I blindly believed whatever family gave. I nibbled on nightmares sugarcoated with hope. I chewed chaos while treading on slippery slopes. I guzzled cheap gratitude, while gulping on guilt. It was a recipe for disaster. One, where your aptitude was to serve the one & only master who built you a home, a career. Now, you owe them – your life. So, you’ve got to eat at the table where generational toxicity serves cold stares that cut like a knife. You’ve got to drink homemade poison or go to prison where you live on the brink of somber times, writing ungrateful rhymes. 

Never thought I’d come home to a war. Cold, raging war. One laced with silent stares. Pretending that everyone cares. One where words fired like bullets, and you never lived life to the fullest. Armageddon was home. It never left. Martyrs lived. Watched games, made lunch. Some, made a list of groceries. Others, buried their miseries. Deep down in the basement of their lifeless hearts. Where they imprisoned, all their desires – to speak, smile, and cry. They were P.O.W. with no P.O.V. Dragons in the dungeon, waiting to breathe fire. And burn the world that didn’t see them turn into ash. This wasn’t just a war within. This was Armageddon brewed in cold-blood, at home sweet home.