I like the clarity here,
What I lost to my disease pattern
years ago.
It was never easy.
When the poets will
Walk the wailing leaves
Brown and crisp,
Fill their blank pages with black,
I will choose a Cafe Dreamonic,
Snug-fitted at some remote corner
of the city,
Order our favourites, just to get it cold,
A ruse to sit and talk……
I will not mind the surround cacophony,
Shallow laughters, energetic supersonics,
Hushed murmurs — the perfect background
score to our confab,
Then in sometime,
The sun will leave our table
And moon may not arrive
But the stars will lead us
In a backdrop of that blue-buttered
Celestial spread, just like movies,
When they will be busy
Shaping ghouls of an innocent
fruit, playing karaoke with
the dead,
It will be cold outside and you
will lend me your coat,
Drop me by my door and forget
To take it back — remembering
A ploy to come back again
Just like movies….
You are the anti-aging cream
I am yet to buy,
Maybe I never will…
The mirror looks at
Supple inside, stroked tenderly
with unprocessed Shea….
I try to get up but my knees
create moments silent,
No. It’s nothing new.
My bones have lost their tongue,
The tongue can’t chew its teeth,
I may spill my coffee, spoil your dress,
Not find a scarf to cover my embarrassed face,
But it’s nothing new.
I felt like forty when I was twenty,
So either I never got up
Or never grew,
You can see…
Time moves propitious,
Burning fragrance of remembrance,
Chill bordering the warm petals
Which never wither below
that sheet of ice —
Last Fall. This Fall. Every Fall.
All restless moments put to sleep,
In my world of dreams and the
Poetics of it…..
Open Cafe: “Only in our dreams are we free. The rest of the time we need wages” — Terry Pratchett
In all the noise about dipping numbers, probably it is time to ask ourselves, why in the first place we chose to write. Not for some simple reason the stalwarts have incessantly reminded us, to choose a better goal, and not get bogged down by mild ripples or not-so-simple monetary quivers.
We all have our realities to deal with and my effort in that aspect has been to create a world away from the harsh of that reality, where you can dip your leg, warm your fingers, now that it’s getting cold outside.
I don’t know how far I succeed, you can tell me that —
But the effort continues…..
I found a very relatable article by Dr. Fatima Imam in her poem Ratio.
In this poem, Barry Dawson Jr. IV tried a new form Sijo, wonderfully executed.
It was nice to see Penelope Mayfield back in the fold with her usual flare, the recent one I enjoyed is Here.
Nothing feels better to come home to Soul Bay. And to find you all around engaging, encouraging and inspiring!
