Pole-Stare

Pole-Stare

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)