In the garden the flowers are waiting to be born:
roses, mimosas, marigolds, bougainvilleas
all waiting since the dawn of the world
waiting for the first purest kiss of the sun
waiting for the soft breeze to blow
waiting for the rain so that they can come alive.
I am beginning to ask some questions:
like, how many flowers are exactly waiting to be born?
how many of them will be beautiful? or ugly?
but, still, the questions are just questions
still, that god!
maybe god is a man with a drooling mouth
a gardener whose body looks like
it’s stuffed with a dozen flowers or so
like the body has been turned inside out
and has got only bones
maybe god doesn’t have his own body
that’s why he plays with others,
maybe god is a dog spelled backwards
or something like that!
still I get out of my bed, and pull the curtains
and see the magic that is yet to be done
because there are flowers outside my window
waiting to be born
and that means somehow I will keep breathing today,
or at least, together with them, for a while.
in the porches
the children rattle
the empty plates
& their empty souls
in the damp kitchens
a giant loneliness slithers
inside the broken souls
of twisted housemaids
chewed faces walk
along the guerilla tracks
their guns pointing
towards the sky
with a barrage of
in the waves of the fog
ragged shoes scuttle
with the hush of
the morning mist
they have just
with crimson red of
& a narrow victory
Here in my rented room
With a packet of chowchow,
A bottle of hooch —
A book of verse —
& sweet thoughts of you.
Speaking to me, beside me,
In this wanly-lit wilderness,
Turning this shit-hole
Into paradise anew.
In this cool café
Visible are just your eyes
Floating around the mosaic walls
In the mist of coffee steam.
Lost in the colored stones
You lose yourself — one by one
As you count the wriggling curves
Reaching the end, hollowed-out.
Last April you found a hole
Yawning in the abyss of your heart
& tried to fill it with autumn leaves
Now you drip the last remnants of
Your lost longings,
gazing at the colored walls.
the acrobat takes her foot
off the tightrope
with agility and skill
does a flip
or some other dozen tricks
full of physical prowess
defying the laws of gravity
exceeding the potential
of human body
flipping like a coin
upon the slack rope
motioning her desire
to break the rules