Mathew Thomas

White it was, the bed sheet,
Naked against my skin,
Secret hold, of amorous sins,
Of many desires in between.
...

Becoming a woman,
Songs sung dry,
I walked to the bazar,
Men smiled with eyes that gore,
...

It was a tiny pustule,
That welled up as a sore,
And erupted,
The doctors diagnosed it as caste,
...

I am a small farmer, who tills half acre for a living,
And you a barber, shaves hair for a living,
We both had things in common,
I prayed for the rain, while you, for heads to shave,
...

On the hospital bed,
In the I SEE YOU,
Where no one could see,
Doctors whispered,
...

After the war,
Minus two fingers,
With two fingers of scotch,
To forget my loss,
...

Waiting in the rain,
Shall it be in vain,
The drizzle now and then,
It wasn't often.
...

Searched for God,
In the hills and heavens,
Sea and sand,
Counsel of sages and priests,
...

It is Onam,
In God's own country,
Where palm fronds sway,
When Mahabali visits,
...

I teach a class of students' lex,
Who leave me with a complex,
And pass time with iphones,
Listen to nothing but the tones,
...

Providence that I have another year,
Neither at snail's pace nor in a hurried tear,
The past few months,
Lived each moment only once,
...

They told me that places of worship are quiet,
On the altar of love,
Silent screams echo into the night,
In the sermon on Sunday morning,
...

Am I, a servant be fit,
To wash thy feet with my tears,
Or wipe the dust of your feet,
With my dusty turban,
...