Mourning the lost poems of an unknown poetHurt- spoken to Vincent

by A.V. Koshy

i know, vincent
this one is going to be as raw as your later ones
and as bitter, angry and ugly
you know those friends, birds of the same feather
but they were not friends
and i would write poems
and poems after poems
and they would say silently
but you are not as good as the ones who write in malayalam
we are better
or the ones who write in usa or uk
or the ones who got prizes
or got published
or the great ones
and i would say nothing
write, read it out
to a few
who would not laugh -
like you had theo
i had them -
and then tear it up
confetti on the sidewalks, so many countless pieces
littering the streets of the city of my cri(m)es

all my life they have followed me, vincent
and i kiss my girl and say, to her i'm more than vincent
and they say why don't you stop this madness
and i say
anna
is there god's hand's imprint on my heart
am i not like dostoevsky
and they say megalomania

vincent, sit here, paint with me in my loneliness
while i make love to your golden cornfields and bluest of skies
and let me read out to you my poem
and we can tear it up and let it like blackbirds fly
into your painted sky
for one thing i know of you, vincent
you would not laugh as the gutters fill with boats for boys
made from paper taken from my left-behind poems
alone of all mankind, you would sit and cry
with me and give me your canvasses, to write -