If they could be counted they
would have matched the heaven.
On the green great mound of a meadow
as abreast as twinkly stars.
Take note, the average, the oblivious,
though not you are stars, not prominent.
Frail roots will hold each other under the earth to
make you one and tenacious. You are humble grass.
Softly, petal, it does not die:
the urge. The memories of grainy
softness, brush. Soft curls new
dew clad on
are preceded by kiss.
Raise, raise, raise two hands,
two wings. The arm pits are
naked caverns, seek!
The body flesh: it’s water, it’s a stone.
A sweet love is a
love and technique.
A small boy screaming.
Asking God to return early
the next year.
both shrill and feeble was
making the building
God, in the meantime,
In his many clothes,
green, yellow glitters.
Turning red under
water, turning clay,
in the wrought iron
The boy stood watching the
Parents took him
back home promising
the next day
him a Superman doll.
fear took a nest in my rib-
cage and remained.
Stole my peace
till morning tore
its wings. I watched the heart’s terse bird fickly floating
in the sunlight. At dusk it
strode back in.
A love a nightmare
at the first hint of
from the kitchen cabinet
in poly packs
A new day has begun.
Its warmth wins new territory,
its aroma breeds salubrious peace,
its froth bloats.
Tall as hope.
Only the bitterness doesn’t go.
Twenty sugar cubes wasted- a life
that’s swirling like a nightmare
is a nightmare
Where are those girls?
Who carried warm water in their purse.
Saving for later, for a whiny day.
Dipped tea-leaves in it and splashed in the faces
of the child-men who came to them timidly.
Memories of them
petered and lost in my heart.
In correct times impermissible, unwise, perhaps?
So, whisper, whisper.
Benevolence, one part, and lust, another- a meady concoction of the seventh heaven
and, thrill as their bait.
Thus the trade- oh the trade is so onesided that I’d trade my house, my cars, and the damn dog away for I could be thrilled instead.
Where are they gone?
The lithe girls who carried perfumed water in their crotches,
would raise a war with the lift of an eyebrow- or a titter storm?
Are they done now, gone now, even now, ashes now, coward now?
The children of a norm?
I stand nearer to you. Not you.
The you that I adore.
Will give my life to-
My love will shine like the blinding drops of summer, will parch us,
and will overcome us like rain.
Greasy strands of memories would put salt on our wounds.
In the bitter rain I will cling to you, to you, to you.
You will be there when I am dry.
It is in this indecision I live
You, whom I both hate and love.