Shadows of tall trees churning
Deep waters of childhood
Creeping evenings of death like days
City ends
Before the roads reach home
Twitching eyes rummaging in the broken limbs for strength
To walk again tomorrow
Silences and brief moments of scorching sun
Doubles the desperation of timelessness
Hurtling down the last scraps of memories mirrored in
Dreams
Reworking from the beginning once again
Brick by brick
Dripping nights of august in the thick forests
Forgotten people and times
Hoping for storm times left to cling
2
Doctor is an angry man
He cures diseases
People, days, nights
Dilated days and fuzzy evenings
In and out of epileptic fits
He tells you about veins, blood and dark interiors.
He walks blind folded in the corridors of
Sunken ship
3
Working backwards
Holy waters and scented young woman
It is cleansing, bats in the darkness of damp room
The shrine, god and dead stones
Faith is unbearable reality in time
Protect my body if you have courage
Forsake my soul
Laughed away all the pigeons
Birds make noisy love scenes
4
Coconut leaves shine like blades in early morning rains
Sleepless beds drying on the terrace
Young mothers feeding babies chatting
They will earn salvation one day
Piercing web of the sun on shallow waters
Dancing mornings of early December in costal towns
Memories of self portraits made for walls in newer houses
Whiteness of being slowly tanning like a hide of old animal
Never wanted to die
5
Cows of mothers depleted desires
Burning plastic to make bangles for small girls
Smelly village fairs,
Sticky sweets and unknown mounds on the breasts
Smeared with
early morning's virgin frost all over.
The body makes the sun shine
The god of life
They never ask question
They grow in the sticky eyes, noses, hands.
To wither away like
Dyeing lonely mountains beyond thick forests
Seemingly alive soaking in the sun,
They walk days together to unknown places.
6
Strained back of Buddha in rock faced caves
Painful knowledge of obscurity
Gods rejoice in heavens
Hemlock served with divine wine
And poisoned bread for last supper
People don't die they become monuments
Fluttering bits of time
Flying freely across solemn looking hills
Loneliness is sacred truthfulness
Of pensive looking Buddha in painting
