What trees kids had gathered
Over several days before fire!
Shouts would flare up streets,
As fire would lick nights filled,
With shouts by ghosts of kids.
Memory is cinders of a night.
They smell as burnt coconut,
With a sooty taste in mouth!
When four dogs played with man
When four dogs played with man.
I don’t know why two came at me
And fear became smell in the air.
Other two might be overwhelmed
By love of man and smell by a sea.
Two from four would come at me
Like the sea came at me from blue
When fear became smell in the air
And sun refused to burn the smell.
A home on feet
Beach sand forms a home
Around the child feet hole.
It is now time to go home,
Breaking homes over feet.
It is poet dream we dream,
That child withdraws feet
When the sun feels sleepy
Enough to return to home.
Something else
Between sofa and a thought
Was leg dressed in blue cast
In layers of fifteen days’ time
And temple past descending.
God over there knows things
Like another layer in leg cast
Upon temple’s steep descent.
Each thing is something else.
How
We will think about and how
And will come back in night.
In the interim ,we shall sleep
Retroactively, by a beast sea.
It lately growls less after rain
When it fell like night’s tears.
Its hurt came across a dawn
When the sun wiped its tears.
In the interim, we propose to
Sleep and dream, perchance,
If dreams will come in words
In giant waves from a poetry.
Shape of fear
A shape cuts through a sleep
By twin hillocks like a rabbit
Scampering away from fear.
Fear was shape like a snake
Crossing our paths in hillock
With creeper in rock crevice
Crawling upon a recent rain
From a skin empty after fear.
Fear was a shape of son talk,
His words vaporized in tree
In wind that swayed a baby
Like mother’s love, in bricks
She carried , on a cloth head.
Mom carried bricks like fear
On a cloth ring on her head.
A fear about baby son’s fall
Swayed a tree’s cloth swing
In sleep, a shape called son.
Mixed up
You are mixed up on almond
Where there is entire history
Of words in leaves open now,
As maroon ones will fall later.
You are in yearly November
To prove to be alive to world
With the sophisticated poem
To pinch yourself , still alive.
