Poem: Monster

Possibly, I’m dead, mutated
into a ghost
inside your bed,

              like an evil spell
              crushing your confidence
              by meaningless blows—

              as yesterday fades
              with its fake promises
              of paradise

              and pig-headed politicians
              decide
              what’s real and fake.

I’m a shoeless
hunter on a time-rusted
motorbike with tattooed
hands, rotting

in a den of dopers,
smokers and drunkards
crumbling,

I breathe on a mirror
but I don’t see
my breath,

              only a face
              that I don’t recognize,
              It’s your face, smiling

              with promises of paradise
              and of peace,
              love and light.

As into dark
I plummet
from the breadcrumb sky
yeasting aloft
the greening
marbles of Taj Mahal.

I’m a hopeless
beast of burden,
chewing
the fungus
inside your mattresses— to stay alive.
So, I can flirt
with death.

Inspired by the dverse prompt: Let’s have fun, guys! Whatever takes your fancy: let’s have some fun with fungi.

Linked to Open Link Night #300

© MRITYUNJAY DIXIT, 2021. — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED