Poems That Lose
By Akif Kichloo
3/5
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About this ebook
From Akif Kichloo, author of The Feeling May Remain, comes this deeply personal and poetic account of a troubled life. A nowhere man, with or without god, a quintessential mental nomad, omnipresent in his mistakes, exploring mental illness, identity, family, sexuality, god, love, childhood, and purpose of life, Poems That Lose brings forth questions all of us wrestle with but either avoid asking ourselves or miserably fail answering almost every time. Kichloo navigates brilliantly from the deeply personal to the universal to the extinct, paving the way for a rare new voice in contemporary poetry, a poet who is more than wanted; he is desperately needed. These poems will slip off your tongue, creep under your skin, and live there.
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Book preview
Poems That Lose - Akif Kichloo
with?
INTRODUCTION
I am an artless poet.
My metaphors come from an artless place.
My heart doesn’t open like a blooming
flower (common metaphor)
but breaks like a beer bottle on a pavement
instead (artless fact).
I cannot, anymore, for the life of me, keep talking about beauty and richness and extravagant sunsets,
or the wholeness of my existence.
This is my time to talk
about
unkempt hair
and cigarettes after sex,
about
the inherent violence in our existence
and the ruins of love living(dying)
in sewers, drinking sewer-water.
I am an artless poet.
From today, until I make it
my metaphors shall come from the
artless place I belong.
Trigger Warning
This book contains some poems on subjects of depression, suicide, and sexual assault.
Poems
The lesson, dear human:
All loving is not benign.
I have a body too young
and a mind full of years.
Everything in me has
witnessed its own ending.
I have lived through nightmares
and died in blissful dreams.
What all that's left in me
either eats me from within
or melts me from without,
and that is where my
humility takes form.
—The curse
No disease is gentle;
every affliction an equal a calamity.
I—
a medicine man;
Learned enough,
Able enough
to cure everything,
Still know not how—
to cure this sclerosis of souls.
— A pandemic I am determined to cure
It’s summer,
the roads have melted,
the tar on them sticky,
the asphalt drained away
into the gutters no one knows about;
nothing is safe from the looming rain my
grandmother feels in her bones.
My feet wear concrete boots as I walk;
too heavy to take these steps,
but still I take one at a time
wishing I get to life before they do.
The air is humid;
it steals breaths from my lungs
and leaves me gasping for
something more.
Something I can hold
inside me like more than just a breath.
I have seen enough,
been through way more
than my fair share;
Summers were never meant to
feel this heavy.
My childhood pictures
remind me of lighter days.
—Snapshot of the present moment
I exist in two states on my lover’s bed.
First, a toddler in love.
I mumble words when I am scared;
my voice