the thing about beautiful worlds

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~
an unwarranted gloom sets in —

i tried to find a rug for my infantile,
bare room. my accessories include
doubly-pasted post-its, a yoga mat
unused for months, coffee-colored,
chocolate-textured curtains, and books
stowed in a cupboard atop each other
in prayer. i wanted something new
to add, to subtract despair from
this unmatched permanence.

i am emboldened by the monsoon
drains, how everything has peaked
into a kind of a nuisance, habituating
all my vices and sins — my world
is a beautiful place of longing, of
plastered cacophonies, of free agents
who take away from these chipping
walls, a piece of my unpleasant candor.

and all it takes to remind me of ugly
fantasies are the red lines that want to
restore my british spellings to american
ones — a hegemonic control over my
bearings. when did i start becoming
a product of capitalism? one too many
copies of me carried by bored crowds,
flipping through my innards, spitting
in my eyes to reach the end (for fuck’s
sake) already, of this half-way written
carrion story.

oblique — i resort to a redundancy of
words, and rusted thoughts — my world
is a beautiful place — vapid, stringent,
liquified to its last remains of nothing.

~

 

For Midweek Motif at PU.
Edit: Linking it up with dVerse OLN.

Image source: at the horizon of the strange world by Katja Reetz

***

I have been working on a new Insta handle for over a month now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

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33 thoughts on “the thing about beautiful worlds

  1. teal says:

    “i wanted something new
    to add, to subtract despair from
    this unmatched permanence”

    I love your line breaks. Your poetry is excellent. So is your Instagram, especially the one with your kids.

    Liked by 1 person

      • teal says:

        On “mypeculiarlife” … The first couple of shots. But maybe they’re not your kids; maybe they’re friends. It’s hard for me to tell people’s ages now that I’m 40. 🙂

        Like

          • Oh, I know you’re not that old. It’s just that kids grow up in a hurry. It’s hard to tell whether they’re children, teenagers, or even young adults anymore. I have a ten-year-old who looks closer to sixteen. So I thought you could have the same situation.

            Like

  2. Love this interesting world of a poet. Specially those “books / stowed in a cupboard atop each other / in prayer”, “plastered cacophonies”, “…the red lines that want to
    restore my british spellings to american / ones “. It has to be a “place of longing”. This one is quite a journey. Beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Susan says:

    I can’t believe you go me to chuckle in the midst of this dark vision.
    Here it is: “and all it takes to remind me of ugly
    fantasies are the red lines that want to
    restore my british spellings to american
    ones — a hegemonic control over my
    bearings”–ha ha ouch, I mean. I have my spell check on too–what happened to self-reliance? Emerson (19th c American thinker) had a lot to say about that. I am so glad you are published and READ! If this is recording the “liquefied,” please keep doing it! Some of the words will “subtract despair” for somebody. Like me.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Glad to know that it made you chuckle. That’s the best thing we can do amid all of this — we are surrounded by grim realities within and out and anything to escape that even through a pointed humorous note is something I would prefer time and again.
      Thank you. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  4. “When did I become a product of capitalism?” Ouch. I really feel that line. I love the lines about British and American spelling so much, as I battle autocorrect daily. A wonderfully powerful write! I am happy to have read it.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Jabin Hawkins says:

      That line was what caught me as well. Although I try to err toward minimalism, the shit keeps piling up somehow.

      This poem was very interesting and had my soul looking downward at my feet as though I’d done something wrong and was being scolded.

      Liked by 2 people

  5. Gloomy indeed yet as the world goes you got a smile out of me for the red lines reminding you of ugly fantasies. Luv the video you partnered your poem with
    Happy you dropped by my blog

    much love…

    Liked by 2 people

  6. hypercryptical says:

    Dear Anmol
    Your words your thoughts deep and frighteningly honest, how strange that this place of safety we prepare for ourselves confines and imprisons us more. But to break out, to change threatens our very being and sometimes it is easier to remain where we are, in this cycle of self-defeat. (I do hope you find your rug, symbolic as it may be.)
    The red lines you speak of, I understand this, how annoying that I have to proclaim who I am by a simple spelling of words, declare that those words are not mine.
    On another note – the books have been received, one of Shashi Tharoor and three of Manto. Sadly none of the three include ‘Open It’ – the story that moved me so much. I have not read any yet, that is a future thing when I have finally took control of my home, wallpapering its walls and returning it to its former state.
    The kindest of regards
    Mags aka Anna :o]

    Liked by 1 person

    • It is easier to remain where we are… Yes, it is the most comfortable space possible too at times. Thanks for your incisive comment, Mags.

      I am glad that you got the books. Open it is moving indeed; I was shocked the first time I read it and it began as the vantage point for me to understand how women are the worst victims of any war/conflict and helped me in trying to trace the histories of the “other sex”, through Beauvoir and other pioneering feminists. I admire Manto and his contemporary, Ismat Chugtai, a lot.

      Also, all the best for your projects, wallpapering et al.
      Thanks for visiting.
      xoxo Anmol

      Like

  7. There was a lot to ponder and cry over in this post. However most of all it was an entertaining monologue that perhaps we all should attempt to paint a picture of ourselves that we can look at…and laugh I suppose!

    Like

  8. mhmp77 says:

    kaykuala

    who take away from these chipping
    walls, a piece of my unpleasant candor.

    Sometimes it is more of a denial rather than being involved directly in correcting the wrong!

    Hank

    Like

  9. ‘…i wanted something new
    to add, to subtract despair from
    this unmatched permanence’
    is a great way to express the feeling of boredom with surroundings, and I love the idea of being ’emboldened by the monsoon drains’. The lines that jumped out at me and made me smile are:
    ‘…all it takes to remind me of ugly
    fantasies are the red lines that want to
    restore my british spellings to american
    ones — a hegemonic control over my
    bearings. when did i start becoming
    a product of capitalism?’

    Liked by 1 person

  10. sanaarizvi says:

    …. Let me begin by saying this is one of your most intense and heartfelt poems. I read this more than twice and each time a hard hitting truth met me .. a blend of sadness and nonchalant acceptance of world’s brutality. I can sense the urge to scream.. the yearning to want more from life and can resonate with the pain of being different from the rest. Unforgettable write ❤

    Liked by 2 people

  11. Glenn Buttkus says:

    A powerful & personal diatribe; read it thrice. As noted (I’m way down, deep in the adoring commenters) there is a fragile balancing act between hope & despair. It seems like we, as readers, depending on our immediate disposition, lurch toward light or the darkness. It’s the light for me today.

    Liked by 1 person

  12. Wow…….

    “and all it takes to remind me of ugly
    fantasies are the red lines that want to
    restore my british spellings to american
    ones — a hegemonic control over my
    bearings. when did i start becoming
    a product of capitalism? one too many
    copies of me carried by bored crowds,
    flipping through my innards, spitting
    in my eyes to reach the end (for fuck’s
    sake) already, of this half-way written
    carrion story.”

    I feel this way about the whole concept of personal brand and marketing (and capitalism OMG). And wow, never thought about it like that but Microsoft Word’s penchant for marking British spellings as spelling errors is incredibly evocative of American arrogance at its finest. My apologies, we’re not all jackasses).

    And I for one really hope your book doesn’t end until you are an old man. I can relate to that feeling of being rifled through, the reader wishing I’d just hurry it up and get to the point. But for every person out there who is impatient and has no appreciation, there will be one who is the opposite.

    Liked by 2 people

  13. I admire the last stanza, resonating strongly with me. Those monsoon rains and drains drive me nuts – but its cleansing isn’t it. Words are always a haven, in all its rustic beauty.

    Like

  14. Pat: willow88switches says:

    and books
    stowed in a cupboard atop each other
    in prayer.

    as so many have already noted, there is such a pace and rhythm in this piece; it’s a bit chaotic, and yet, like those books, piled in cupboard – the hidden ones, prayers – from deep within a heart troubled, a spirit bruised;

    what I find effective about this piece is the play between the simple – the opening stanza, and then the chaotic worded ruminations and bitter(sweet) reflections – and how these two aspects play out as the poem continues to speak –

    which is often how a troubled soul and mind reels – these bursts and then the quiet, of looking around and seeing, in plain sight, and with a “plain eye” what is – and wondering, perhaps, I can embellish this space, and in some way, subtract from myself, and yet offer something with more soul back, however “small” – i.e. a rug?

    this is rich and complex piece – both sad and despairing, and definitely biting too – a wonderful interplay of what it often means to sit within and without the confines of a world seemingly gone absolutely right off its rails ….

    Liked by 2 people

    • Chaos is an integral part of us; to understand its complexities and claim it is one way to relinquish control and be at peace with it.
      It’s perplexing how the mind plays with you — at once there is this scorching heat which wants to consume you and thus preferable over the other extreme of the sharp calmness that gnaws at your being. It is through expressing in whichever manner that you try to maintain a semblance of sanity. I have called it so — I have come to understand that insanity is the norm, so whatever keeps you functioning through facades or comforts or privileges is fine for the time being.

      “I can embellish this space, and in some way, subtract from myself, and yet offer something with more soul back, however “small””: This says it all.
      Thanks for your insightful thoughts, as always. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      • Pat: willow88switches says:

        and yes, “insanity” is “normal” – it’s just a question of “measure” … and only we, individually, can decide on the flavours and the dose.

        Liked by 1 person

  15. You build a room around you
    A sonnet disguised as
    Floating stanzas
    You are in fact anchored
    By the last line of the first
    Stanza, most of which bypassed
    Earth and soldiered on with
    It’s tail flitting down landing
    With a lovely clunk to be
    The first anchor of three antitheticals
    Unwarranted
    Unmatched
    Unpleasant
    To flesh out three corners
    Leaving the fourth an open spring of water or some other acidic substance constrained by our confabulation of common memory that Jung had the hubris to saddle as archetypes and amplified by the shadow of a series of unfortunate events we divine in the stream then where does that then leave us if neither feathered bed of five star softness nor little rug serves to ground that corner and time is of no help whatsoever what then is that thing about a beautiful world other than to simply
    Breathe now
    And again
    What was liquified
    Has evaporated
    And now plays
    In that exchange
    Of gasses
    Expanded to fill
    Any empty
    Space
    What
    To
    do
    b u t
    f i l l

    a r m

    s

    ?

    Like

  16. An elegant witness on the sudden eruption of despair–and despair-fueled rage–in a benign circumstance. And a prophetic cry for integrity against a zeitgeist that seeks commodification of anything unique.

    Like

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