The gorge

A dark boy would take us
To the dizzy river canyon

That would swirl our eyes
As afternoon’s sun singed

The green river at bottom,
Motionless like treesnake.

Dark boy pointed it down
As sun torched the gorge.

The old cheeks turned red
Like it was sunset already .


But not every man remembers
Dog’s howl at mom’s vacating,
As memory turns to a pale sky.

Dog howls at a midnight’s sky.
Rain falls on night for nothing
After men vacate their spaces.

( reading Mark Strand’s poem The End)


The body is life’s argument.
Argument has a conclusion.

There are more conclusions
Beyond this one ,like ripples.

There is not one conclusion
But ripples each  stretching.

Ripples stretch like wailings
Creating horizons of sound.

(Reading Emily Dickinson’s poem “World is not conclusion”)


We looked to fix a body here.
Praise be to all-merciful God.

There will be collapse of body
A liver or a kidney will get up

And go on tiptoe across a hall.
Is this end promised by father

Or just an image from a hand,
The promised revival of body?


The eyes cry much from the holes.
Too much light lives in eye- holes.

Until eye-lids declare sovereignty
And refuse to shut out total light

And eyes turn windy and round.
There will be no waters in them

Till there is a monsoon from sky
Drowning all manholes in flood.

Biting sarcasm

The flesh that raises goosebumps
Is unwilling player of transience.

Flesh watches television of flesh
About goings on inside its bones

And laughs in faint moving lips,
A biting sarcasm hid in corners.