Lahari Mahalanabish
What can you do when the brain catches fire?
You can’t roll on sand nor leap in water;
can’t call the brigade nor spray the foam.
Frayed arteries slither into spurting hosepipes.
Beliefs are sheared off from the surface,
roots still embedded like tripwires of mines.
Painstakingly-solidified dreams pound on cells
and trapped breaths of mangled lost lovers hiss,
unfulfilled wishes lunging at the hoodwinking
time to somehow gobble it back.
The rocking tectonics of wrath
and the great swamps of sorrow roiled by lava
expunge civilisations
within the igloo cold cranium.