Dear God Of Mosquitoes (After Mike van Berkum)

I wrote this poem inspired from “Dear God of Hiccups” by Rebeca Mae on Button Poetry. I really enjoyed the whole performance aspect of it.

Also, it sounds like a really salty letter in the way she repeats “Dear God of Hiccups” every so often.  I think that’s really cool.

This poem also derives from my international travels. When I went to  India in June 2016, the local mosquito population decided to pay me a visit.

Moreover, when I went to Amsterdam in February 2018, fellow poet Mike van Berkum performed  his poem  “Mosquito.” It’s all about mozzies  in the tropics.

Dear God of Mosquitoes…

I pray to you now on my knees, waving my white flag of surrender. Please rid my legs of these tiny embers. At least within  the next ten seconds. My shins are inflamed eggshells.

Dear God of Mosquitoes…

I forget how much you burn. How much you itch, punishing me in these fast seconds, more holy than the woes after the Last Supper. I slap at you with the anger of grinding tectonic plates. I watch you leave, cackling like hyenas in the Pridelands. Then you return for some more. Gotcha!

Dear God of Mosquitoes…

I feel you whilst I sleep. All the air in my body is just blood to you. My skin is sandpaper when you’re around. I know this is you saying hello to this outlander.

And one day you will say goodbye. One day is the last day for anything. The first day you bit me. The first day you get caught in my swatter. The last day you lived to tell your friends about this foreign feast.

Dear God of Mosquitoes…

How perfectly annoying you are and you don’t even notice. I catch you in my hands. I talk at you about English winters. I tell you about wind, showers and January snowfall. You die at the thought.

Dear God of Mosquitoes…

I eulogise the future. It’s these last moments that are so brief, like you God of Mosquitoes; like you mighty mozzie; like you Pan and Gaea; mother earth partying in my soul or sending those bitches to break my skin.

It’s these last days that are important – in conversation with gods and monsters, like those Hyderabadi statues down the street. I’m sorry I killed you Mosquito. And a bunch of your brethren too. But you bit me in the ass.


The last time I say Mosquito out loud it rolls off my tongue – easily like the whoosh of my hand when they land on my skin in the night. Bam! Dead. I don’t even feel bad.

Dear God of Mosquitoes…

Forgive this foreigner. I’m no killer. Just don’t bite me. Thank you for your hospitality. Thank you for welcoming me to India. Thank you for reminding me to appreciate peace when you are gone.

Good riddance.

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