Untitled

Solitude is a ragged piece of cloth. 

Just enough to cover the sagging breasts of a moment. 

a moment going unclothed without a cry or a gasp. 

the night will drape it over her after she has slept. 

exhausted from beating her chest

STORMY BLUES

somewhere from under the door
monsoon crawled in
and memories seeped out
to become tomorrow's mildew.

the lone candle that broods inside
is soggy from the flame
and silence sits and scratches the old vinyl
for it wants to hear
the tin roof lament in the rain.

that night when the cricket sought shelter
I kept the door shut
as loneliness and I
sat smoking the same cigarette.

IF I COULD

if i could.

rip up shadows
of poles and plains
to turn them into trees
chisel every leaf
and bare veins bleeding into the rain

if i could
crease out a lake
drown the ripples
and watch a monologue
between the moon and a paper boat

but all I can afford
is to watch
the silent games
an empty room and the shadows play

but if i could
just mute the rain
and watch the land shiver
in their silent intimacy

TANDAV

sand melted by her voltage
now swaying over nascent glass.
Unseeing eyes of embers.
Bare sinew sculpting the air.
spine a serpentine arc.
Blackhole sucked rainbow.
Ripped torniquet
Salt licking her wounds.
Abrasioned waves.
swirls churning the ocean.
Oblivious to gaze of heavens
Summoned by her cosmic séance
The maniac had begun to dance…..