‘Jocasta’s despair’

Crisis in narcissism

of Jocasta.

I am her son.

Today-

There is abjection

as

I returned from the Himalayas

having left by my father

there

to be consumed by Yeti.

I blame all prophesies.

I remember

Jocasta’s first despair;

at my refusal

of her milk,

expelling myself.

Her petrified eyes,

I know today

as I married

Jocasta,

was for the disparity,

among a social aggregate.

She feared blood,

blood that she oozed

out of her own.

A difference with my father,

I and other men.

I remember

her second despair.

Jocasta’s abjection.

Her face at the sight

of faeces in the street.

We annulled our walk

that evening.

Third:

When she vomited

while revolving

serpentine alleys

by our car.

Her forth despair-

Knowing about circumcision

of my father

and then,

my removal.

Despair for religious disparity.

Jocasta was always tender

at her face,

and glittered like blooming flowers

when I returned

and

saw her first after years.

My father died.

Now,

her desire drove her ego

towards

the fifth despair.

Not knowing the origin,

the buxom lady

grasped my appetite.

And machismo

brought her near.

A love nest made.

As she related the story

of her only child

with me,

I recall her despairs,

Jocasta’s despairs.