A yellow bus goes by a self motion
Steered by its fatalistic bus driver,
Tiny school children are in the bus,
Going to rote multiplication tables
And A for Apples and P for Planet.
Their voices rise like the bee hum.
A driver fatalistic about school bus
Is one-up take on a school system.
Silence extends beyond poet
We have not heard of earlier.
Her poem blooms her silence.
We are an extended silence.
We are poets buried in quiet.
We are a silent stick in mud.
We would see the priest dance
A camphor’s flame around God
Lighting our God’s smiling face
And the bell would ring hollow
And a fragrance of God’s smile
Would rise on camphor’s death.
Our God would smile in hollow
From metallic variations of bell
To the dying flame of oil lamp,
A falling fever of bell’s tongue.
Stomachs keep their thunders
And empty light in their skies.
Son has to crawl up to the sky
And say his mama and names
Holding his wall’s white alone.
But all the while,a night stares
Empty light stares unfinished,
At a piece of boom from night.
I find myself contradicting .
I am a little too small now
And I forget what I say big
Whatever I say I just forget
What I contained in a past.
I forget my old multitudes.
And I forget I am the same
Bumbling contradicted self
A little small from old self.
Feelings are lizards less tongue-tied
And they stick out tongues in open.
In wilderness we are tongue-open.
Words fly in the wilderness at a sky
That hangs precariously on all of us.
In a wilderness we stick out words
Like bush lizard sticks out tongue
To catch its meanings at random.
I and the body, we have come together.
You know , I distance myself from body.
But now I and body are coaxing poetry
To happen in parks, on roads, bus stop
Between men from each other’s silence.
We fill canvas with images and poetry.