"Classified" & "Caught in the Web" by Harsha Venkataraman
Classified:
The rain has softened the ground today, better for digging my homely grave, and as I lie awake and wait for the morning bleariness, I am just an honest poison they say, morally uncomfortable and a necessary tragedy. A stranger to my actions and in name. I have tasted the silent crimes, Run my tongue along their inky grooves. I am their cog; the cuts across my tongue bleed oil. Blood that never dies, yet none ever do realize, I am the inky oil, staining the hands and handkerchiefs of men clouded by smokey gold. They cannot wash off my stench from their sticky hands tucked inside pristine white gloves who water books instead of burning them. The poisoned pressed flower grows tangled vines in our book. What foul betrayal gestates in our soil? Done by those trapped in their own festering vines. Oh what is to be done? I know-- Today’s headline reads: A revolutionary casket, modelled by yours truly, how lovely. |
Caught in the Web:
My Amma says my skin is so vela, so fair. The web has her tangled up as well. The sticky shimmery threads: the lair we are all their prey. A plague, in other words, a beautiful veil. Few take a second glance when they dress in such spider silks, the shiny threads look lovely under their trance they say in the mirror. But the rest, we are trapped, our arms pinned back, and the world turns a blind eye when the system demands another snack. The moderates' outrage is shallow. Just another symptom, just another veil the spinning web entangling our existence Spins forth not for our benefit, but to our ail. Those who align with such nets of lattice do not understand their place as puppets I pity them, for they are driven by cowardice, and are lured further into the spider's web. Do not scoff, we are all prey under its gaze Burning hearts beating in courageous souls seek liberation, and the web sees bright intentions to raze and to start anew. Such frightful waves spread to those secure enough from the beast who enjoy the cool metal of the cage. Their rhetoric is painfully twisted. They blame those with the least A morsel of falsity for the masses to swallow to protect such an existence. The veil is thick, the veil is strong, privilege and pride cloud their vision enough, so they cannot see the trick of the web caught in the light. |
Harsha Venkataraman (she/they) is a high school student from Austin, Texas. Her work can be found in The Lunch Ticket, Kealing's Inkblot Magazine and the LASA Composer.