Hardik Vaidya Poems

I am an ordinary tree.
So plain, birds find me profane.
Simple leaves, neither large, nor small.
Ants, termites and spiders find me a bore.
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My mind is full of horses, running blind.
Each one of them young, mad and wild.
All black stallions, elegant and galloping,
Each one of them a poet in the making.
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Talk talk talk and more talk.
The be and all of our flock.
Our largest organ is the tounge,
We don't have brains as our hearts are numbed.
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I am blessed with a uncle.
His name is Madhukar.
Born in the same hamlet
Where I breathed my first.
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I still loose my poems.
I shiver to write them down.
When will you kiss me?
Such that I can tear my heart out?
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The henna on your hands,
Or was your hand in henna?
It was growing and glowing.
Your hand, you or henna?
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My mother was born ila.
What a lovely name.
Earthy.
From the soil.
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I am black.
I did not choose to be crack.
Some ducklings are ugly.
Why are they so bugging and sucky?
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When I left you alone
On that afternoon bus
What did you carry?
My eternal lust?
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Somewhere in Australia,
Is a princess born, she writes from the dawn of human morn.
If I were blessed with a daughter, she would be her age
Living in a rage, flowing in freedom, as a woman finding her gaze.
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