Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 17, 2014





A silent thunder in my heart
Rumbles across the entwining skeleton
Threatening to blast off the secret cave of the chest
Without a drop of rain expected from the horizon ,
As the burnt out bust of the Cycas blankly looks on
With envy at birds and bees
On indolent hunt in bushes and trees
Where your growing image interrogates
Every word of love whispered by the wind
Into the crazed ears of a Christmas tree
In whose arms a strange solace I find .

Impotent metaphors of the present
Quarry the womb of the past
In search of those cyclone-hit plants
That went underground with a plaintive sound
Echoing the pathos of our break –up
Under a whimpering November Sun ,
When your lips faltered out the name of real lover
Under my eyes’ angry gun
Burning my image into ashes in fire from that Sun .

Memories smack of rotten tat smell in the loft
Of my old crumbling house
Where I turn a temporary guest
In search of a real identity of my own
When I rush to rest awhile
Under the shade of scented creepers of the dawn
Sizzling with fresh hurts as they silently lie across my lawn .

Comp. n copy right : saroj k. padhi

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