I wanted to write this love song

I wanted to write this love song 

That will last in music 

I unravelled all that I had written 

All that I was meaning to send 

All that I wrapped in silks and touches 

All that had remained wrapped in some solstice

All that had walked 

Hand in hand, together into that mist behind memory 

I wanted to go back and feed on those feelings 

Just to write about 

the wet walls behind my back

The exploding taste of the strawberry Popsicle

 that melted in mouth and lungs

Planting memories to rain that rivered the city and bodies 

The cats fell into invisible corners

The dogs had crowded the patio 

The city was washing its dirty corners 

And you were language to my new found limbs

The room must have held silence and clusters of being 

I still hunt words and gather the other side of lamentation and dry heartbeats 

the fissures open 

And I scatter to wet racing and rankling 

Never ever finding the words that would heap and fill it to an ever weeping lagoon 

Hidden love stories have a perpetual weight 

Time escapes enchaining it to appearances 

Seen and Unheard

That never makes it to a love song  

Words whirl and still dance 

devoid of shadows and presences

I wanted to write this love song

That will last in longing

Pregnant

She kept getting pregnant 

And She heard her babies thrashing

kicking and gallivanting in his mind 

They were eager bodies 

Trying to break out into light and meals 

Like that unbroken chain of life parading into history 

To throw light at screams and spills 

Deep kohl eyes

Life never reaches its destination 

There is always that little 

That cups its face on its two hands 

And ponders 

Often peering into the glass 

From one mirror to the other 

As it walks

Rushing glances obstinate and stormy 

Leaps between windows, doors, faces, eyes, quietude 

the baker's glasses, the florist's windows, the book seller's warm greetings.

It run back home to the everyday eyes on the dressing tables 

transparent lapel 

When I stone the reflections 

and try to climb in with solutions and verdicts

Life denies me the smoothness of swollen coffee 

I find a woman deep within verses and chapters 

Unrehearsed 

Decked with the unassuming 

Life says,' I offer you no chains.

You are free to knife your ties.'

I wonder if it is just to cease with the unexplored

The self preserving roots, and breeds

To enormous love

the sacrificial

The magnificent and lasting!

Mornings when papers talk about suicides and disappearances 

And the festivals amass happiness and move on 

I wonder why chew onto the apparition of what could have been and what will be?

Life has got no columns 

No construct 

No victories 

No eternities 

It's only got its knowing 

With its two deep kohl eyes 

of insomnia and sleep.