Wednesday, May 15, 2013



Stuck fast on erect chairs
Pulling reins on galloping wisps
Time flies, or it sits still
Scent disintegrating on dried pollen

Primeval egg splintered
Smashed to poles drawn apart
By force; horses fail to quarter
Bonds sucked dry of life, air, tedium

Beads slither down stubborn throats
Unbent; impossible trunks coated with grime
Thick paste of scales, sweat, cheap fragrance
—Musty wages of hourly toil

5:30. 6:00. 6:17.
(A weary bus winds up the hill
You marvel at its willpower.)
At nightfall you stay back
Alone; punch-drunk mosquitoes gather
Breeze slips in waves over open wounds
Solace, and then, the logjam of the morrow’s loaves

(15 May 2013
Vatakara; February, 2001; Recollection)