Poetry

To save the last bruise,
after an encounter with
a kiss of the breaking rock and melting voices.

I did not want to
remember you in twilight
of dementia. There was no birthday for me.

A brown girl drowns
in my deep poems. You had become
a river without a bed.

Can you give me a
name― for my unborn child?
I loved him to measure you my mate.

After all I refuse
to die inspite of all the falls.
Beyond the bricks lies my blessings.

It were only you.