The blade slashed through my arm,
Tearing through my skin like paper.
Had I felt the pulse of my thumping heart,
Pumping rivulets of life flowing essence,
The only thing that would have scarred me,
Would have been the red of the satin.
Instead the swirling vision of leaden colours,
And metal soaked with corn glaze,
Made me stumble into a daze,
From which I couldn’t possibly return.
Metal encased with a sliver of rubber,
My being encased with synthetic skin,
My life engraved in ignorance,
My mind stuck in oblivion.
Were all the stimuli of this marvel,
Truly my own ones,
Or have I been a puppet,
Bridled to the strings of my master.
Could every fiber of my being,
Be claimed as my own,
Or was I taking the beaten up road,
Chosen & Primed for me.
Could I not perceive those foreign traits,
The seamless scheme of my maneuvers,
My detachedness amidst beauty & art,
The uncanny way of my life.
Am I really so inhumane,
That I couldn’t feel that red-hot lead,
Poking and prodding my whirring heart,
Scalding through that ice-cold metal.
Would I be filled with remorse forever,
Or will I be able to rise from my grave,
For I shall either have to stay in desuetude,
Or ramble around with the undead.
Submitted by Subhasri Manigandan , PSG College of Technology