too long
walking through evenings
too late
sail might make its end
alive with still calmness
haunted evening of coastal
there the march of hope came
smuggled it within and folded it with
enough rust of nostalgia on due
on words
then taking a mile
lower dense—rounded in quotes
of society—where the walls of any where
befriend for fate and dust
I eat this fragment
and could I but?
a fall punctuated
and invisible
nearing back to another hall
where words heal and wounds live
around and on the bed
spaced out in total sense
mosquitoes ring over and again
from nets squared as a closure to light
with rides for rats
towards the right
near the second room
a naked partition of prayer, purity and paunch
all folded in rhyme with discreet eyes, only
one, in thin curtain of her sari
now flipping dough and its matter
meals delicate when limited
mother and her morns
from morning sweep of dust
till noon before a slight wink
his mental hanger—father and his
neem-cut life slow but never pausing
and then the yard
to reach—the history—
the wild date in old strength
bold rain tree rousing
beyond the separating wall—
her fingers touching
the window of a back-seater in concrete
with different and few viewers
from its side mouth—the open flesh
of strings migrated and recoiled for hours
nights too at times couldn’t dare off their minds
their spits and tired limbs—cornered like
a clumsy frame—
then brushing disquieted
to feel the splits of light—
still heaving taro leaves of one
around white Rorschachs made deeper each time
and more
with voices of different times
those which stayed for base offering of a thread-work
then words now you say
is it not there—then to seek
and drain some day
More.. https://awakeningpsyche.wordpress.com/2015/01/27/keys-and-water/
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