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How to become a poem

My poem is a furball.

It wraps around itself on my lap

And steps on my keyboard

Typing gibberish as it strolls.

I pick up my poem when it is napping.

It melts into me like a warm, grey blob.

And as I put it down,

It leaves traces

On my skin and clothes.

My poem scratches me,

Draws blood.

My poem bites and gnaws.

“That’s how poems show love.”

My poem sits on my chest –

It is heavy.

Soon, my poem melts into me.

The heaviness dissolves into my body,

My breath synchronises with its rhythm

I become more than myself.

I become my poem.

- Prabhasvaramitra

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Science journalist, communicator & writer

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