Tuesday, September 13, 2011

I am a Myth

I am wrapped in myths.
I love them -
They had cradled me.
I seek from them -
They had nurtured me.
I dream them.
And they have started taking over me.

As a child, playing with my
Grandmother’s  wrinkled
Plush skin, I loved to hear the myths
Pour out of her mouth. Of
Him and Her and Them and Those.
I would then start floating,
In a longing blur,
In an awed scare.

They don’t exist now,
The Him and Her and Them and Those
She would assure me.
Was what she wanted me to feel;
Was what she saw.
Only perhaps.

Why not? I still question
Their nonexistence.
Myths are complicated, unrealistic. But
Still predictable and magical.
Unchanged over the years.
That makes them magical,
That makes them real
To me.

Oh yes, real indeed.
They exist. And powerfully so
They sniff us out.
They hunt us down.
They rule us.
They engulf us.
And then they call a bluff on us.

Why else  
Is our world so unreal.
And unpredictable.

This is a myth. Those weren’t.
My grandmother’s saggy wrinkly skin was real.
Her assurance, a myth.
The stories were real,
The lessons and morals, a myth.
The Him and Her and Them and Those are real.
I am a Myth.