By ABHIRAJ A
I have always been fascinated with roots:
Giant banyan tree roots plunging into the earth,
Umbilical cords hard to dissever,
Veins of rivers that dissect barren lands.
My illness, too, has roots-
Of which, in search, you'll reach two words:
Schizen and Phren,
Greek in origin, akin to my thoughts.
Tracing down the family line
Or back through the teenage years,
It's hard to pin one beginning
But easier to envision an end.
Memories, now unreliable;
Love and lust, washed dead ashore.
The mind is crafting its mockery
With devilish neuron roots.
At the horizon, together,
The Father, The Son, and The Holy Mother
Are chopping down the trunk.
But roots remain in shape,
Waiting beneath to bite.