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Showing posts from February, 2011

Wet streaks DAMP

I once went underground


sleeping.


through
     tunneled
mud lanes
      of
  broken castles


there were armies marching to the kitchen store
and beauties waiting for the enrolled whore.


yellow shade
      came
thru velvet strings
of day light GLOW


                                         sun-tan baths
                                over
                       flew
kites and birds


of narrowed beauties
soaked up
spicy
in              open air breaths


of wanton ecstasy.


clouds
were
blue and rains
              silver
             ;;;;;;;;;;
             pouring
             down
              the
  THATCH STRAW 
                                 b
                                 e
                                 a
                                 d
                                 s
                                   of tightlipped gasps.


rubbing skins and woolen cots
rained sparkles of


f
  a
     l                           s
       l                      r
         i                a
           n        …

Nymph nodes

Nymph nodes
I Childhood has an attributed nostalgia like ventilators that sustain life.
It’s like your wish to return to the cellar towers Where you watch, the green of weeded walls.
The damp air The dusk and the rusty care taker fill your breast, While you watch your shadow curve in the lantern shade.
II I was a girl of eleven with a cot of my own, When fingers, thick and dark spread on to my skin. I lay bare, by the window cot watching afternoon leaves flutter shades and breeze.
It was a nameless tree, next to my broken fence, marked as my floristic guardian angel in the annals of my birth star logics.
Climbed on it, every other day my pores bled, To paste its pulp in-between slices chiseled.
It stood straight, with a thousand limbs stretching.
I must have hugged and kissed its belly red. For I feel, I am cuddled within.