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

Sunday, December 27, 2009

On Burnt....

Berries scorched in the embers of jaw
And the licking fire lighted the shrine
That lay unattended by the musical preacher
Like the privacy magazines in my dad’s drawer!

You taught me the art of flute
To limit the music to the pores and lips
Lest neighbours would envy
The luxury of my jewelries
Like as a growing girl I won’t be allowed to play
Lest all the myth of puberty flew away

You wade across to seize the lotus stems
And you never see the water bleed
It is when images turn white apples
And frosted pines struggling to penetrate the sky
you being your self
and the silhouette of your kisses
like uncles and aunts known for ages.


deepteshpoetry said...

Beautiful...happy new hv u n?chk out my blog whn u hv time.miss ur cmnts

WordsPoeticallyWorth said...

I enjoyed reading this composition; very crptic, which encourages the reader to delve deeper in-between the lines and connotations. I also found it humourous in parts, so thank you for that. Thank you for requesting my friendship at ReadWritePoem. Take care. Bye.