Poetry

Now burns the stillness of thoughts. 
Be my enemy. 
Ants are running out 
of the eye. 
Nightmares: 
I am collecting the ashes from 
the burning ghats. 
The steps to the lake are disappearing 
in the blood of moon. 
The dogs- 
are carrying away a half-burnt leg. 
It stinks 
stinks 
the whole river, all night 
all day. 
Don’t shut the window 
I am crying. 
 
•
 
Tin man was walking on the sea 
of words. 
He did not want to utter F………out. 
The hirsute triangle 
pops up, every time 
you close your eyes. 
All night he was dreaming 
he had become inert, like a corpse. 
Can you start a salvage chemo? 
So that I can levitate in emptiness 
and meet 
my arithmetic 
midway like cherry blossom 
falling, yet not falling. 
You will never understand me. 
I was waiting for the night 
beyond the sky 
beyond the stars. 
 
•
 
The stigma 
the style. 
No pollen wants to land on your cherry 
Stainless shirt waves a white flag 
to stop the war. 
I am not a cherry picker 
in a moonlit night 
undressing the smile. 
It is for you, the next life 
a little wee 
if I don’t come back 
from the sea of carnage 
pure as a fish.