You will not find poetry anywhere unless you bring some of it with you. Joseph Joubert

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Cult

1.

Black shells
and trepidations

ribs of vision
blue…dehydrated

I walk from your limbs
to limbs
…downhill eyes
to those fat lips

Row me
till water is high
and I drown

like a dead submarine…

2.

I have dug your
navel
bits of jewels and
tidy dreams

a brisk temper
enlightening my castle…

ashes of prayer
like salted petals
crisp red in

a big brown chest

termites nibbling
my soft
sad eyes…


3.

The naked pine
sharp over
some bleeding soil

tongue sweeping
bristles on your face

milk raining down
blind canvases

and across
The event of church


down the pelvic
a tomb-
a bliss of orchid and
poisoned raisins

4

An evening
you jerked the caravan

against violet petals

a friction
that crippled
music

and noise
unheard

those foul-birds
pecking at
seeds of sin

5

tongues melting
in the oven

cubes of saliva
burning a
cult
the nestles
below

an organic
smell
feasted by yeast
trained
by libido
and lullabies.

5 comments:

Deeptesh said...

Loved the half revealing allusive imageries in here.The piece dangles in the realms of magic realism......the intoxication and sensuousness is also quite moving.

Ramanuj said...

you are mesmerising. flow on.

Amiya chatterjee said...

I drown .....Like a submarine ( !!!) I am not sure if I like the simile
Beautiful lines, some very impressive, probably remember for quite a number of days and months..
I HAVE DUG YOUR NAVEL...Tidy dreams
ASHES OF PRAYERS
BLIND CANVUS
DOWN THE PELVIS, A TOMB
TONGUES MELTING IN THE OVEN.

Siddhartha said...

Liked the staccato style...

Kunal said...

The last stanza is sublime....sublime...