Ten days that shook the world

I got my first letter, a boy of fourteen
An eighth grade student, older like a year
The girl as if sheltered to my empty stomach
Like writa, a hunger impassable, but rice.
Not the baked bread crumbs, not fish, neither hominid.
Encumbered to the throat of an enormous flower - I remained
My head sprang out, seeking endlessly all and sundry hours.

Covetous young boys in torn shorts would incite me
My prejudiced hunger watched them gobble in vanity

My body opened a million mouths of hunger, and I roamed

Around alleys far off , my mind a juvenile kingdom - framed

My body to ten different crystals, unvanquished in ten days

That immortality will become the little boy of fourteen

Unerring efflux of writa's aroma - ten days that shook my world.

Figurine

This noon of death I sleeved
Your figurine glittered, poured the all-acquired -
Slying veil of time, murky stellar dust
Depleted on a woman like you.
Tired feet stood on peripheries
Where the ephemeral few ignited
Their leases from their alienation
And heard distinct-discrete arias
Lurking unrest of time past , time you.
And amid such a feast of outsides
I saw immortality of raging sun.

The entangled blue of the sky, the star gestured galaxies
The still grasses of moondance - I indulge in entirely.
Even you're not the pause
Another terminal figure of abyss
Constantly melting to jostles , embracing
Ring of debris, dust and catharsis.

This familiar ephemeral noon , your figurine
Not submissive to the wrinkled tides
But time submits to you - you the death carrier
Silhouetted; today you are dead.

'You'

Concealed wakening you till today - yet today - come gliding.
Scurrying along rails, furtively kissing - costumes of rural mud.
I remember this sundown, the smell of this dark evening
The air of you that floated unbidden, uncertain
Curing thousand unvanquished pauses.
Prickly path of grass, tickling our bare feet
The wrinkled cotton of your skirt crisscrossing .
I've only heard the birds here sing, their names I never knew
And after dusk - scent of this earth rips memories
While the weeping air nests in date palms.
This dark evening, my feet wanders alone in the autumn grass
Few notes freeze in mind, timid birds curtain agility.
In entirety I meet, the phantom of you - marbled in yellow grasses
Trembling like fire, eerie-white as fresh bone.
You that whip me to comfort, you that I create in frozen rhapsodies
An easel to wakeful slumbers , smell that is yet to come.
Smell that wrenches away to foolish grins of flower pots
Smell that is a repose to sudden roars of smoke
And the smell that I lose to sidewalks of crowded many
Concealed wakening you till today - yet today - come gliding.