Rajiv Prajapati (1996-8-4 / Bhaktapur, Nepal)
while on a trip to a tame wood unfar
I came in contact with a rock on the ground that I did not see-
and so stumbled across a magnificent space of floor
and fell down on a rough ground with dry twigs, leaves, minute thorns and more
Instinct told me to put my hands on the ground before falling in,
and slow in thoughts as I was, gave in.
Consequence came quick enough-
a piercing pain on my palm
turned it into my view to find it full of holes
the holes filled with minute thorns
and my hand in pain and agony,
dancing and beating like my heart beats,
but in tortury.
No use it was, all my tries to get the thorns out,
and so left it altogether with the thorns still there on my palm.
Soon the very pain forgot,
and the thorns still there on my right palm
stuck both in and out
its root within between my skin,
and ages are past since the thorns were newly there
so now within it and my skin is a strong bond:
the thorns are my skin and my skin is the thorn.
Then gradually the thorns are as far as my skin spread far-
I am the Thorns and the Thorns are Me.
And so became the Rise of The Thornman.
Comments about this poem (Thornman by Rajiv Prajapati )
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