Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Between what I write and what I mean

I said 'Poetry is the attempt to capture in words what exists between words'. A Norwegian poet loved that. I would love to have your views on the above as well as my poems. On to poetry.

Commemoration / Post script

A final phone call.

To clear up things
To put on record
my ending of the story.

A date changes character
and refuses to be recognized.
Lines of confirmation

The calendar suggests other figures.
A twelve says, ‘Not me.
It was eight.’
Usually eight is the culprit
Earlier it was four.
My numbers.

But the fact remains
An execution took place.
And my severed head
Was abandoned to cry for itself.

Spring returns

A cocky orange streetlight rudely interrupts
My affair with the early evening sky
Of an ambiguous white or fading blue
With pink fleeced lambs turning dirty grey
A frolicking kite soars wild.

The dry cold north wind turns around
Humid and warm
And whispers in my ear,
‘Its time
for the green buds to unfold their wings.
Is it time for me
To float your dreams

Again ?’

If you go away

If you go away
take my sense of smell
or take the scent of the first rains after summer
that I may never remember
the fragrance of your skin.

If you go away
take my sense of hearing
or take the sound of sparrows
lifting the dawn
to another joyous day of expectation
of seeing you.

If you go away
take my sight
or take November sunlight
lazing on my home street walls.
I’ll need no more winters
in Calcutta.

If you go away give me extinction.

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