Here I stand now to receive blessings
From a father’s thin air ,now felt at
The balcony’s falling off into a night
My night poetry being of many spaces
This very room shall afford a window
Of opportunity, the curtains a glimpse.
Lest I forget the sill I bring the moths
Out of season,out of rain,their embraces
To the glass of death,their glassy wings
Shall bring a re-generation of leaves
And the flowers ,heads down in shame
Their feet put up to the sky of surrender.
I forget the lake of my liquid space
Its waters jutting out from the rocks,
A white smoke behind a garbage dune
Killing a soft wet poet’s innocent verse.
I forget the road of the hanging trees
The pollution van standing to abolish
Poverty and pollution in a round plaque
The crows hanging in trees with worms
To early sun sleepily rising like always.
Lest I forget I hear the drum beating
Of a train picking up gravel hitting speed
In a rising crescendo of the drum stick
By a bearded player who changes tracks
And drum beat shamelessly mimicking
The train while it is away on nightly rounds
With people tucked away in a dark womb.