babitha marina justin

For Pn

I know you died years
Before I was washed down
My mothers gullet
Still I could make you my own
For a night, may be for days and days
And cage you to my whims
When you came pleading for love
I kept you buried in books
Which I fished out
During tedious trips
crowded counters
and empty restaurants
to blend with your effervescence
my voyeurism pored over
Your passion and politics
The strange ways where you
Watched them copulate and die
In each others arms,
the promises and spasms
that last and die in a minute
Only you triumphed
You had the last laugh
Of the final creator/ killer
And I had you
Hardbound and fastened to me
To tell you that it was you who
Painted the moon for me
That shone far away in the sky

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 22, 2008

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