Like an unspoken parable '
like a silent prayer,
like a sacred tulip...
swathed in the redness of my blood
I
know u will always be there
my vulnerability will always be put to test
Yet like the foetal blood
that oozes from every pore
of my womanhood!
Your fire will burn in me
to light up Gluttony's funeral pyre
You were the wine skin that burst to flood
the Khartoum of my soul
You filled up my barrennsess with a son
an imaginary icarus whose follies i made my own....
Today and everyday
for it is in U THAT I WILL LIVE ON,
in life ...... in death
and in unwritten gospels
on roads less travelled and those that never will be
I will live on!
for my ashes will rise to unite with urs
like a dazzling phoenix by fire....
The listening apparatus
Is silent –
Ahead of sound –
Your eyes gush
Like awakened
Blake.
From: kolkata, west bengal, India
About me: What would I be saying If I said, ‘The sky is true’? Would the dream pass more slowly If I lowered my voice, bassooned my vowels? No end to wonder, I find, And the evening mist is still. I talk in allegory when I speak to myself. I walk up the hill – my spirits rise. The process ‘saying’ again Is always about itself, about something Other than its content Its statement and assertion. I reach with every word For the truth of what I find— I miss and then I say something else. The reader, myself included, Gets only the altered after-saying. Where is the sky in all this--? The measure wavers – the link is broken – Disturbed, a trial of what is, Wanders, palpitates, grows worn In its youth— Like a design by William Morris Or brothel in Joyce’s arcane language.
ohh dis is an awesum thought...and so r da words....words and words are all i have to praise your skill..
keep it up.