Prena Poetry

there is this boy out there,
somewhere far away at the edge of the world.
and he gets tired of thinking about
the same damp sunrise in his dusty old town.

( lifelessly, so obscurely )
with his fingers wrapped in the rudiments
of his mother’s unfinished fabric.
with his body drenched in a brutal ache.

he sits on a classroom bench ( suffering )
among the irreverent folks who no longer believes
in clout of the sightless utopian gods.
nothing goes in his apathetic, loveless brain
nothing eases his heart burning in the flame.

(strangling, and struggling under his own skin)
it kills his mother to see him drunk
but it killed him more to see his father
devastate his mother night after night.
and how could he dare dream of being loved
when his bruised mother did not receive any.

he has given everything to numb his flesh,
his scars just won’t heal.
his future, he buried it with is mother
and left no flowers there.
every night, he lies in the unfurnished cold floor
remarking the light green poster on his wall.
begging to leave the ground he touched
and boundlessly sail with the northern lights.



─ Prena Subba