Harvest

20191217_135208

 

A midriff lay slumped on a chair.

The spine an adage of another existence.

Crumps and foils have been cleared away.

Breakfast long served before the bell breaks

again, 

another blush of coral in a vase, like

a little child screaming for that what it knows not. 

As always.

The sun has esteemed our resilience. Idyllic fair-weather uncle.

The soil has been trowelled for him to feast and

lush worms exposed in their hideouts.

Little sylphs of the earth, mopping up the dried salt

of this frosted mud.

I lay a bulb, inch apart, and hoped for some gross vanity 

as spring disrupts into shoots and roots entangle the mess that we call life.

I let the water flow out wondering what it would taste like. A drink of brine inside. 

A tongue for foregone rains. Outside.

A silent robin looked around, perching its hunger on a barren branch.

 

Home

A Long Road Ahead

It is a long way to home.

Home, where sometimes I know

no Home.

Well, what is a home

When the heart is

Always a nomad.

Somedays here, somedays there,

Somedays found and

Somedays lost.

The sun shined above the fields of heather for me

Today.

Maybe an invite

Wrapped in purple to lure

and call it a

Home?

*

My mind runs faster

Than my deformed feet.

*

My heart is still sunk

In the memories of

Yesterday’s winter.

The cold and dark

My motel for a long time.

They let go of me

Even the frost needs rent,

And I am penniless

With no dimes to rub or spend.

I am back with my old friend

The shadows from the alleys.

Together we lurk

Like the ghosts of a long lost legend,

Listening to the jingles and looking at the twinkles

Oggling at drunk wanton cherub faces of

Joyous December,

And remembering the warmth in the innards

Of our soul

That could vein in us

With hot boiled spirits.

*

I ran the entire length of spring,

Blooming buds of cherries and daffs and all.

Baby greens dotting the widowed trees,

A new promise laid in

The womb of time.

Branches singing together

With the mirth of mynahs.

 

Let this be where I breathe

In and out now.

This cloud and sun speckled ground

Where I dance the songs

Of lost dreams.

Lost,

With the youth of time.

 

But I still know

I am miles away from home.

And I still know,

I will return back to that motel

I once belonged.

 

 

 

 

December

Little bird.

Are you lost amongst the thorny brambles

That are knitting up the winter sky.

Are you hungry

For the grains, the kind, placid strangers of summer

Threw your way.

Are you looking for the  voice 

That was once used for singing

The tragic ballads of autumn love

That died along with them

Leaves.

You know,

I am here

Waiting with a basin 

Full of love and tears of a bygone 

Year.

Soaking the seeds of tomorrow,

A much brighter morning, 

A much calmer noon,

In the soil of my little strength.

Don’t leave me a trinket.

It is nothing but 

Another memory of you 

Owing me something.

You must have heard this 

But my love knows no 

Gratitude,

Or simple words.

Only pay me a visit,

Or pay me a flutter

Of your beautiful wings,

And those colourful plumes.

For to see

Your beating bosom,

Throbbing with a million 

Dreams and,

And your eyes 

Meeting a million

Destinies,

Beats a thousand rhythm of 

Lives,

In my heart and

December thoughts.