We live here - 'Raphael, '
a leprosy colony in India.
The 'caste' means we are both cast
to the separation of ordinary.
I use a bicycle like an artery
Grover cannot leave.
His wheelchair is an island
the palsy a moat that tightens straps
of ever diminishing freedoms.
Head rides its spine
in complicated maps of direction,
flower on stem, blown. His stretched mouth
impossible staccato.
I wait for Grover to settle from the agitations
of good morning. Arms fracture air
he dribbles laughter onto twisted limbs
wrapped into a parcel with himself.
The mind is a line.
Wobbling, tied, he aims his tenth finger at the
keyboard. Time is needed to connect to the key
but over time
has published seventeen chapbooks.
Escapes, letter by letter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem