2 poems by Misria Shaik Ali


Photo by Robert Cumming

I don’t know anything about poetry 


I don’t know anything about poetry or grammar— 

syntax, rhythm or sentence structure. I don’t know 

how to use words or to craft them. I know 

crafting shapes aesthetics—an anti-thesis to today’s 

human condition of uncertainty. But no! I am not 

here to justify my materially vulgar poetry—

feelings that are rooted in materiality—my land, 

my religion and my words. Read it as 

lacunae; a space for my conditional existence. A misinformed structure

for,

I don’t have the language you have... nor do I 

have the Others who haunt your existence.



This regime


This regime feeds on my thinking and erodes it along its edges.

I always think or I should say,

I wonder if the regime is stupider

or the virus! One of them repeats itself

constantly where thoughts become in the manner of drill exercises. After all

is done and the pants are up,

I try to gather all the crumbs and watch them decay.

What else is synesthetic and metamorphosing than decaying matter.

So, I chose to stuff the crumbs in bags of words and call it poetry.



Follow Misria Ali on Instagram

 
 

©2018 by The Alipore Post. Proudly created with Wix.com

This site was designed with the
.com
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now