Ahmed Maiwada


Since this breeze began to blow southwards


Since this breeze began to blow southwards,
The weighty breaths of these
Beach palms have littered only city-tales. And I am finished
With furry crimes
Wagging tails of denial;
Finished with foul ethics splashing in guilty tubs. I am
Finished with fagged out logs, chopped to pieces and
Fed into the
Flaming mouths of sleep.

I am over the city's vampire-teeth
Cracking the luckless bones of grooms and
Chucking down coffee to keep from deep-sleeping;
Over with the
Outstretched arms of desperate chance, catching a
Breath; over with lapping tongues on
Bleeding dreams.

I am done with the
Diarrhea of teething faiths;
Done with the grief of chained moments imploring
Dumb time for their parole;
Done with the eyesore rags of
Hope
Hanging on the front door lines.

I am through with thoughts that drift over lands and
Seas, going underground, policed by fears and out in the
Streets, skipping minds;
Through with doubts: whether it is
The city's stone heart thumping.
Through, I say, with doubts: whether it is
The Holy Ghost knocking, or just the hooves of my
Wrist
Watch kicking the world around.

My thirst now is for the
Fiction of the
Fish-watching cliffs that
Slipped into the seas, and their
Sticking tales in the ship-saddled splash.
My thirst is for the
Corralled account of how long the
Coral reefs have been on their knees
Drinking; will they get
Drunk by and by?
My thirst is for the
Saga of the
Surf - the grey ocean sideburns;
For tales on why the
Winds push down each
Waking wave that rises to pray for the fish.
My thirst is for
Stories of the infant calm
Strapped to the backs of storms,
And for yarns on God, or his Sun hidden
Behind the clouds, jabbing the
Bottled waters with straws of rays.

Submitted: Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Edited: Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Form:


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