2021 Poetry — Malashree Suvedi

Another Poem for Kafka

we're all translucent, like Kafka, prickly hazy

things, with tongues made of onomatopoeias,

expressions of frustration, of solace, lonely bodies that carry abstract souls, we're all like Kafka, the translucent,

unsure of meaning, but it seems to fit, like a tailored coat

it seems to fit, like gloves, tiny hands hold the huge universe:

Kafka, today I think of you, your heads turning in on itself, imagine me, then

reaching out for my heads, and my hearts:

we all wake up to the same horror,

I dream of walking on Mars, kneeling speaking,

"direct me to the waiting room, messiah"

my gods, they await.

they don't exist.