Desires, now
beautiful, sharp and bold
turns or distorts
a blunt, headstrong moth
that drives into wild fireglow
of a delayed time-
burnt alive in immense deference
its body, its joyful composure..
often hear I
desires are sin, worst ever-
but this hand, I believe
cramps in fear of further perdition
as it dissolves in futile scrubbing
of something else
as it allows forgetfulness to play
procastination dull over host.
yesterday,
I had some bright designs
for you-
precious pencil
like meandering riverflow
would writ my glistening love
under moon -mind's white fantasy,
smiling crayons for
luxurious drapperies around..
spill of colours
here and there,
blue filled abundance,
green locked fertility,
the clarion of pink youth
speckled all over-
golden madness hems in them
yet, were these enough?
perhaps not...
poverty sighs over the designs
as swarm of locusts
mowing down rife growth
of a golden cornfield
today, in ominous heap of papers
between layers of stubborn dust
I picked my unmindfulness
the loveless alien me-
shamefully he flees out-
unfinished designs of love
desires for you
...never complete.
my dear...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
today, in ominous heap of papers between layers of stubborn dust I picked my unmindfulness the loveless alien me- shamefully he flees out a delight to read is this excellent verse.