Tonight is a night for poetry.
For Neruda, Manivannan, Szymborska to convene,
Singe the dampness and my inner stone,
Purging loss, blood, memory as return gifts.
…
Tonight is a night for poetry.
For haze, aching and city lights,
Churn the heaves into bite-sized portions,
Packed in steel boxes for tea time.
…
Tonight is a night for poetry.
For the future that will happen without me,
I will watch that life with binoculars,
Offer improper condolences when it is time.
…
Wash away
the wetness.
Wash away
the night.
Scrape spirits within an inch of breath;
Petrify.
…
Cleave resignation with familiar spade
Line up in dated rows
He’ll come back like he said he would
And find orange peels and your scent
on the wind.
Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas 
So many futures that happen without us.
Must they be mourned?
I wonder………
But your words must always be shared here; dry, wet, gentle, hard, it does not matter. All that matters is that you let them rain upon us…
Oh My God – I’m not just “Manivannan” (somehow it’s always a thrill to be identified by last name), I’m Manivannan between Neruda and Szymborska?!
I’m going to bed right now so I can fall asleep feeling warm and fuzzy. 🙂 xoxo
dipali: Heaven forbid! Then we’d always be in mourning. Or wondering whether we should be.
M4: Now if only the Bombay monsoon took its cues from me. 😉
Sharanya: You were intentionally sandwiched. That’s my order of favorites. 🙂
This sort of poetry
Leaves me dizzy
How does one do it!
Spit, polish and chew it?
There — have made myself tipsy!
Aunty G: My words leave you drunk,
And sometimes in a funk,
But I can’t complain
or call them a pain
‘coz they found me my hunk!
🙂
Aunty G: 😉