• malavikameh

Franz Kafka. TFU!

Updated: Jun 7

First of all, what is that face? The Greeks had the custom; to spit on the face of their loved ones, to ward off evils. Oh, that face! that face! I should spit on that face. What is that language, what is that way of living, what is that love? Your love is a dagger that my blood despises Mr; K you, you, I should spit on that face.

I have a picture of you, all dressed up, that I think Adorno or Levinas, one of those wrote about, you as a little kid, that sort of prodigal high headedness, the prodigal sorrow, the prodigal indisputability. You are perhaps everything I am not, and therefore because of your prolonged stupor and writings of splendour, and lovers with distant emotion, I am drawn into you. I cannot keep a diary just like you. Every time I prepare myself for it and then I realise I am an utter failure. A failure - a moral failure, a failure at remembering, a failure in love, a failure in others' memory, a failure even at keeping up with obsession, with both Felice and Milena. Felice was a disaster and Milena kind. I wish Milena, you were here around, for I have wished for Kafka's passion more than probably anyone else has. A failure at collection and organisation is me. But Oh that face, that face, I should spit on that face.

Forget me, I keep telling my lovers, please bear me this torment, forget me. Once an official, like an official asked me to make all people I love public, but I can't do it. One, they are embarrassed by me, two, I am not that kind of a person. Today he calls and tells me, you are loveless! Loveless is a beautiful word, what did you rebel against Kafka, you rebelled against love. Is that why I understand you a bit too much. Once, this woman said I am weird, too weird for her sensibilities, I don't want to go back to my past life, with whatever efforts, with how much ever weirdness, nothing else matters, but I cannot go back to my past life. Those are the two things I abide by. What do you abide by, a cockroach, or a beetle, or a distant parable, that makes me think hundreds of things all at once? I am typically biased towards you, there are people who are not, But that face, that face- I should spit on that face.

I am an obsessive person, I throb, and I am hyperactive. I cannot leave my lovers, but I can forget them better than anyone else. A lot of people think you are about impotency, I think you are sexy af. I have a feeling, this feeling when he called and said "Hey love, Pique and Shakira broke up" and I go like what? Yes, they broke up! I know not what goes on inside people's relationships really, I never could get a taste of all those, why do people break up, why do people get together? why are people even disappointed? I mean to me this life goes on like a long beaded necklace. I suck at looking at it as if there was a Milena and then a Felice, and then there was Kafka and then what you did to each of them. WHAT? Do we all not have a life? But Milena is right, that face, that face I should spit on the face.

I am a scorned person, a jealous person. "Mal means wrong or bad in French," somebody told me this today, “write a satire“ says my bestie, those are ways of reciprocating manners, I am neither bad nor funny, I am a circus clown. I want to be self-obsessive, and I think I am to an extent. I am insignificant, I am dissolution, invisible. Were you? Not now, maybe then. Your love is like the binding chain on the neck of a dog, Kafka, it drags me along, I am tied to it on my neck and I am dragged along. I can only be shown, dominated, or dragged along. Kafka, Mr Kafka, the one who doesn't leave me no matter how much ever I try, no matter my passion for my lovers - you had to be one forever. Sometimes you remind me of Egon Schiele. But Schiele was a market expert, he sold his sketches at their best. You are an expert of a different kind.

But that face, that face, O I should spit on that face, I should spit on that face, Tfu!


Do not pull me in.

Railroads and hummingbirds pull me in.

Do not pull me in.


My child,

my child,

I lend her to you on debts

so that I can seek.

I want you to spot me in corners

where light dissipates and logs torque.

I am afraid,

I am afraid, without you

I loose the child.


Her ponies were flipped inside out,

deep- black tassels shook as she ran,

her amply pointed breasts-

I know not what she puts on her hair!

Pantene, Dove, henna, oil-

they glisten and her eyes shine-

her little mouth gleams at me.

The streetlight and her golden skin!

Ah! what beauty is that one doesn’t

stop for trespassers, one that

takes a pause for me alone.

I wonder if she is happy that I am running with her.

I run with many people- my girlfriend,

the guy who snatched her away

without knowing he snatched her away.

All of them, better than me, one or the other.

some quick, others-good kinetics,

good spine, good power, good arms.

This girl toddles like a duckling,

and laughs coyly. I smirk and laugh dumb


Dear love

I have grown a sponge you can nag, and I ooze.

I worry men will nag and I will still ooze

Help yourself, do not believe my pores.


I am back,

Satchel on my shoulders and knapsacks for you-

home by your feet, I wonder-

why do stories never end?


You the old waterfall that doesn’t cease,

I am a thirst,

not quenched yet.

“tu noor ka jharna hain, main pyaas purani”

I drink her water- my beauty-

your water off my eyes.

“Main aankh se ghatak liya us husn ka paani”


I want to talk to you

I want to cup your face and rant,

sometimes chant.

I stay awake in the night and pant.

I won’t be young for too long.


I wish you gave me now,

for you are not what I know.

My beloved!

you flick like a moth from one to two.

I have been on a close-

out here in the rains, for you, legs weary,

blankets with holes.


They say now or never


not never,

I am not ready for it yet.

Do not prepare the fate with which you

cupped my face, instead

prepare the sheets.

I wish you give it to me now.

I wish for your mouth


I am here


Written on October 29, 2020.


Prasoon Joshi is one of the best lyricists, some of those lines are really god's touch. (WHAT IS THAT LINE, MAIN MANDAR KYUN JAWAAN MERA YAAR KHUDA HAIN! :o)

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