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.
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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: 😉