Literature - Page 34

01. Sat in the spiritual place on a Friday After checking your availability You are busy at home I entered the place. You too joined me in the line of Prayers shoulder by shoulder with others I smiled at me Not sure

 Amid the limbs of Burning up birch trees, Blazes the crimson sun clock I return home, Doves are fluttering away from my fingers… One blend of yellow and white… An attic pigeon sequinned with beads… A bird with eyes kohled

Wide-opened arms of the poem embrace the solitary flame, dancing alone in this dark. while the book kept aside a girl of half nightingale and devil of another descends Through creviced shells of poetry. “What more do you know about the dark?”

Hair traitorous grey shameful need to pretend anti aging. Plucking, dilapidating; dyeing, dying. Betrayal of knees, hands, feet, neck (knees!) circled & magnified, almost expired  — quick sale! The male body needing no such revision. His landscape a shameless prairie

This word that keeps poppin’ on my Instagram feed Means so little, so it seems To crafty marketers and vacuous beauties Hash-tagging like tomorrow Will never come Kindled to autoignition point, Melanin shot golden stars out of their hiding places

Why all this vilification, boy? Had you thought that I was your toy? That my every day and every night Was dedicated solely to you by right? Designed, was I, to pledge you my troth, By vocation and avocation, both?

You see, You are much too old. Your river seeks canyons to carve. Your melodies are not music. Not yet. Your language is yet to be born. You are of the Sea, the Earth, the Breeze. You are Freedom. You are