Thoughts from the Bar Library (a sestina)

Here in this Colonial library dwell long dying dreams dreams once ripe and un broken now beaten and shaded purple not mourning their loss untouched by a human soul Ask me where I leave my soul while I sit in this library how I make peace with my loss Do I smile?  Breathe  heather of…

That poem

There’s that poem somewhere and it’s not lost it’s not grasping at strange hands at the roadside begging to be bought home. Yet I search for it for I know it’s somehow near and when I find it I will find my home.

What if…

What if I told you the moon is made of naphthalene chewed at the edges? What if I told you dark clouds lash venomous rain clawing at its face?   (the moon itself is scarred by the cold evil it spawns its wounds never to heal)   What, then, if I tell you that moonshine…

End of argument

“What do you see in the same old moon, full of the stale stench of sweat and gloom, surrounded by the unhealthy halo of bitterness it’s unable to outgrow? Look at it,”you laugh, “swimming naked in the dark, vain and unperturbed by your silly emotions, your thoughts… indifferent, even calloused, like a rotting roti hung to dry…

The welcome.

The clouds brushed my face hungrily as I sat nose pressed against the tiny window pane of that plane bringing me to Goa. The wisps of white leapt and played, snapped at my heels and merged with the greys: forming un-forming…sunlight so blinding like packs of wolves howling at the sky like the stray dogs…

YOU, again.

Like a jar of perfume left open it’s fragrance escaping into the night your memory caresses my thoughts brushes my cheek gentle as the sweet summer breeze even as I erase you from my days

Fallen leaves

My day lies scattered about like fallen autumn leaves harried and harassed, I look about me. The button I forgot to sew back on, that school skirt that has to be hemmed because it is too long. The draft that awaits correction the piled files to be read, the chicken sweats in the kitchen waiting…

Elusive

The road winds its way through soft whispers of cashmere the mist swirls and fades struggling  to catch up with you.. Smiling,  you turn the corner.

Moonshine

I catch you playing hide and seek in filigree taking me to nights long gone nights soaked in wild jasmine and whispering moonlit madness

Z: ZEN

the pond lies silent sleeping in the morning sun diving into  its clear depths i find myself at peace my work on dusty earth is done.. silence follows me as i slice through the water swimming to the murky floor rays of light surround me my work on the parched earth is done.

Y: YOU, yes, you!

Did I tell you I love you? Then this poem’s not for you. Shut the door as you leave, don’t bother to say adieu. Did I tell you I love you? Almost? How stupid am I! I see. I did love you, or I think I did till sense got a hold of me. Did…