Corpse

Night wipes the smell of warm sun

From its wings; as the footfall of rain

Lies Evening. I do not know if Evening

Still lies here. Evening has lain here for long.

For long I missed myself

For long I missed myself
I became my skin, my ruined sense of humor
The man you did not kiss
The man you thought you slept with
While the entire you slept with something else

For long I stood between coming and going
I knocked on several doors,
They opened hale and hearty
While my rotten fingers cuddled
The plea of something shut.

I wish for those first few sights
With repulsions unknown
With possibilities doubted
The first evening of my growing old
The dusk of your falsity.

When shall we go to the florist? - I'm no longer awake
When shall my face rest
On the lap I can no longer complete
Will you forbid me then -
If I come with no apologies?

Monsoon

I

Flowers reek of copper
Trees are glass. Monsoon
Tips my fingers.

II

Around rural shelves
Rivers sleep timid.
Frogs leap, untimely

III

Homely rain eventuates
You and I pluck petals
We drink no more.

Abani

The block sleeps in bolted doors
I only hear nightly knockings
"Abani, are you home?"

It rains here twelve months
Here clouds graze like a cow
Green grasses turn aside
Clawing doors tight,
"Abani, are you home?"

With a heart partly alloyed
I sleep in a pain, far-tripping.
Suddenly I hear the nightly knocking
"Abani, are you home?"

Illusion

I aged across many shelters. I'm illusion.
I'm an illusion tonight, this night of black fever.
Light rattles in traces, in grim paths , beneath tree windows
Then falls, coying through errors, gripping airy shelters.

I heard darkness in mornings.
Dawn meant gray misty dawn.
I have touched dead bodies,
Gently asked them to wake up.
I'm but illusion. I'm not him.

My love surmounts the waters in that river
Love's old corpse discovered in that far-away lake.
Wind raged suddenly. Trees silent to the night
Even they swayed to the rattles
Cornerless they fell, they fell upon black olives.

Crossing many shelters, transcending storms
This dawn brought me to a grayer dawn.
How can I save my easiness
On such a furnished stormy night?

Independence Day

Like beauty, I'm wearied everyday
Strolling past subways from batteries to despair
Some cities to bring me advocates, some solicitude
They march over each other, hymning their favourite
Socialism over the fifth Carlsberg, rent over the first.
People dance colored, topless over economy
Frail youth ends up in emergency wards,
Sticking their tongue out, tricolored in glory.
Stretching their skins over past bones,
Selling supernatural darkness in dingy pubs,
Gucci goes to rooms where seths come and go
Frail youth whiles , ends up naked in traffic lights.
I begin my classroom career amid such ranting
Whispering facts, pretense, looking for a grip
My love she goes to Gucci rooms, my friends to
Nerve wracked bleak of city halls, selling themselves.
One by one they all fade before me, I pack them
In boxes - labeling, sealing in sordid tapes
I send them roses, I speak them in humor
They buy me too, while I vibrate in alcohol
Permeating through time unknown
Trapped in retro mothers of crosscountries.

No rice, stones remain.

Years expire, annually born clouds give rain, thunderstorms -
Secrecies of the drowned increase, lotus leaves die silently
In ponds. Roots, coiled and slender pitifully shelter in lives
Yet no canopy, no shelter - none on men of one-spoon rice.

Men endear gunpowder, they smell it like incense

Ministers blow trumpets , war horses gallop in skylights
Cops go brooming , goodbyes and farewells in their gunshots-
An empty cowshed is more loved than one playful cow.

Omniscient palaces unlock the unresolved -
With utmost ease, only man goes scot-free
He is not yet a stone. But if you, throw stones
At him - make sure you injure him, let him hiss,
Lest nations laugh, when the stones of glory
Of a nation wrought in glory break apart.
No canopy - none - no rice - what use is stone
What glory in festivals - in you?