Rebirth Poem by Chhote Lal Khatri

The drops of first shower of the season
perched on her lips like dew drops on leaves
hanging from her sharp pointed nose
dripping from her short hairs in soft tumult
fermenting in the flame of her body
making wine with water, flesh and blood.
A wine you can sip with your nose
lips, eyes, ears or with erected pores.

How can a state ban this alcohol that moves
through earth, water wind, sky, and fire?

Her eyes are half open
frames, curves, swells are full open
ogling from the transparent skin.
Don't hold yourself, be lost.
It's raining, effortlessly molting a rebirth.