A Love Poem

>> Sunday, December 18, 2016

we have to clear
spectral clutter of erstwhile loves
and the superfluous curse of
an inevitable future

let us get inside
the deepening dusk,
before the hour arrives
for the slumbering ghosts
to creak and mutter

here we are –
in sensuous December of our existence
with an unbridled ardour,
which had all, but
swept us off in autumn

we’ll wander down
to the broken chasm,
body and mind
beyond the horizon,  
like man and woman
in a love story

forgetting over sour coffee and cigarettes,
the approaching sunrise
which lay ahead us
in blue mist 

we might still be safe,
if we walked hand in hand
stifled in other people’s glare
for they can only shake their heads
in grudging appreciation

you know how it is
if you walked on
in that beautiful flush of
love’s ecstatic triumph ---
here today
gone tomorrow



>> Saturday, December 17, 2016

I left loneliness
on third step of life
it wasn’t second
it was probably before
I tripped on fourth-
I had a swollen eye,
indigo lips pursed around
spiteful gangs of secrets

it was an august figure,
with bent back, greasy gown,
and dirty slippers
rising, dipping
in a manger of brown water
surrendering to the slime-
soaring with whiff of roses

its crooked hand
pointed an undimensioned curve
every evening I crawled up there
lying ruined and smitten
bewailing the parting
when depraved, exhausted
it clung to me -
a dead thing
in fervid air.



>> Thursday, December 8, 2016

I smell the prickling air
expecting the billowing smog 
from the clammy pavement to rise
longingly placing one palm atop another in the mist
as sunrays pelt the buildings
creating a symphony of grimy gold

The air of previous winters were different,
brittle -
promiscuous enough for someone who rambled
to feel untrammelled and alone

I could’ve spun dark whimsical taradiddles
about old loves, their knotty faces
sneering in the grey-blue,
the fog drooping a sweet despair above

there were summers when life shaped differently,
each holding piercing shards of memory,
huge pieces of time
that disappeared completely

I stretch my arms -
silvery ghost of winter is melting in sparkling yellow,
the air is too clear for mawkishness-
occasional glimpses of a different season
race over the windblown swath,

there is a warm halo somewhere,
for the previous winters were merely an overture.


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