Consuming my soul is a flame
Till I am nothing but a burning flame.
While the hand that lit me has long since gone,
Somewhere in the innumerous rituals that surrounded your death
and the selfish demands of the living
and in the midst of the abuse
and in the lack of light in your eyes and your perfunctory nods that reiterated your indifference again and again...
Milestones can be homeward
Kissing can be a bite
Laughing can be silence
And wrong can be right
Let me put you on the slope of a hill..
Green Grass Meadow
Buttercups and Daisies
Think Positive they keep saying
and I try
Just when I'm thinking positive
Why did you die?
In the silent place in my mind -
you don't exist
your narrow, four-lined
A seven-year itch
Has set in our marriage
Unable to tolerate each other
A cry for breathing space.
I looked in the mirror
A beautiful person stared back at me
Fish in bowl
Bowl in Sunlight