No One is a Philosopher Anymore.

No One is a Philosopher Anymore. 

By Sukruti Khungar

How do you beg beg beg for 

Wonder 

I have no God to grant anything. 

Wisdom 

I am told the secrets of all things lie 

in the movement of your breath 

as it parses through the length of the body.

Past lives, there's wisdom to be gained from those

(punishment as well, 

if you carry wisdom and memory 

must you not repent for it?) 

Everything of this body is supernatural, 

there is no body, 

only the supernatural. 

Metaphor 

I had a God once, he had no body, no 

breath that chases itself, chains itself; 

the words he spoke were virtual letters 

placed incorrectly in the slush of the mind,

I could hear them when I moved. 

In his supernaturality (naturality to him),

he used to sit, tied, on the turn of my wrist

till I cut off his strings. 

Philosophy 

I know how to beg, it comes with age. 

With age also comes the notion of 

Chasing after it. 

Time runs a bit ahead.

We, the bodies, have run out of ideas I think sometimes

but I pretend I didn't think that. 

I am too young to not run. 

At night I am knocked over by the idea 

that I only speak words I know of. 

Do you entertain the unholy quirk of speech?

Do you know more or less when you make it all up?

Utterly charmed by the teeth of a woman 

who bites her tongue before speaking. 

I refuse accountability for past lives and 

the wisdom that comes with it. 

May my runaway (sent away) God think

thrice, bite his tongue, 

before speaking me into existence next. 

I wish to trudge backward in time, 

to go back and tell someone 

of this oversaturation, of spillage, 

of having so much to know that you know nothing

but they know that as well, 

they came up with it.