These forgotten badlands are arid and parched. It’s felt the blistering, desert hot winds.
Turbulent gritty sand storms have crossed these lands. What was once lively, thriving is
now only a desolate, thirsty terrain. After being drought-ridden for so long, the ground is
hard, unyielding even to the smallest root. Even vultures have stopped flying overhead
for how can something die if everything is already dead?Day after desiccated day, the sun
beams down, relentless. Although the night is somewhat welcoming, it is still so thick and
humid that it doesn’t provide much comfort. But there’s a scent in the air….something
somewhat familiar but from ages ago. There’s a change in the atmosphere…and an eerie
silence that stretches for miles, like time has stood still. Splat! There…a scattered, dark
circle on the ground…disappearing almost instantly. Suddenly, the scorching sky breaks
open. Rain…cool, wet liquid…it does exist. Looking across the horizon, you can see it. Like
a silky veil draping over the lands in a steady, fluid motion. There is no other sound
around…just the sound of this drumming rain landing, making everything it touches glisten
and gleam like diamonds. Giving drink to a once thought unquenchable territory, it opens
up wide and soaks it all in. The water running, dripping into the trenches that were only
once small cracks…..reaching depths unknown to bring forth life of what was once dead. If
there were such a smell as years of dehydration and depravity finally receiving
sustenance, this smell would be it. Such a beauty to behold…so much water that it stands
in pools until this hardened ground can learn what it’s like to soften in order to accept it.
It’s everywhere, can you see it? Abundant, unwavering water. Everything has been so
barren, you can see for miles…but…wait..what’s this? Something so small that you would
almost miss it. Emerald green, a majestic inch…a sprout….a sprout of hope….a sprout of
Gasping for air. . . you strain your neck; stretching..you look around, checking.
Struggling to keep the pace. . . you're movements, fluctuating; you panic, you try floating.
Screaming for help. . . no one is around, you wish for a miracle; you're wheezing, yelp not helping.
Giving, no one is reaching. . . the waves starting to bring you down; you fight, your Will diminishing.
Vanishing. . . your light dimming; They look from afar, will they notice you're drowning?
Let's wait for the sunset one summer's day
down by the river where I always liked to play
we can kick off our shoes and bury our feet in the sand
come on please be my sweet river man
We can call the wild geese up with a little dab of feed
or jump in the water a little too deep
in that old Red River we can laugh and sing
take me by the hand, make that leap
Write our names in a heart in the sand
you can be my sweet river man
and I'll be your sweet lady river friend
we can hold on for life and scare the catfish twice
anything’s possible that time of day
my white sundress is a little bit dirty
from that red water that always stays so murky
I wouldn't want to be any other place
than down by the river where I always liked to play
and when the moon comes out tonight
and the stars shine bright
your sweet river lady
is going to sing to her sweet river man under the moonlight
watch those stars shooting in the dark as you hold me tight
until we see the sun start to rise
yeah down on the river where I always liked to play
nothing’s changed much since I was just a babe
but now I share with my sweet river man, my favorite place to play
A gray dawn, a dark twilight.
Daybreak, dawn, dusk.
A flash of lightening across the horizon.
Windswept trees, in all bent shape,
Such is the result due to harsh winds
That travel for miles and miles.
And we have no knowledge from where it came from
Or where it is going.
But that its travel continues across the daunting mass
Oh how it churns the water.
I can feel the mist and spray cover my body
And tingle my hands.
Standing in the shallow the air blows about me
With sandy hair raging like fire, slapping my face.
A feeling of unknown,
Watching angry waves become violent.
And a shiver of coldness, trembles my body.
A sense of peace,
I have one thought;
Where did it come from?
the Guadalupe River,
at least a couple of decades ago...
A bend in any river,
no matter how slowly that river flows,
erodes the outside of that bend,
digs away at the bank,
separating stones from sand,
nudging them into shallow water
across and down the river,
sorting them by size as it goes,
the smaller, rounder ones
in a layer on top.
That’s where I was that summer afternoon,
on my back, half-submerged in the gravel shallows,
the water so warm I couldn’t feel it,
my arms straight out from my body,
interrupting the flow,
causing almost waves
as the water washed over.
My ears were under water;
I could hear only the flow of water around me.
Above me the leaves and branches
of trees overhanging the river
moved gracefully in the hot breeze.
Somehow the leaves and branches and water
moved at the same tempo,
not like music,
but rather a deep humhmmm
I could both see and feel.
I don’t know how long
I hovered in that flow,
but it wasn’t long enough.
In ways I can’t describe
I’m still there,
bathed in that most elemental of mediums,
moving with the leaves,
lost in a very long moment.
Encumbered with the walker
blankets for the wet bench,
sheets of water splashing the cement.
I ventured to my smoking spot
face hidden inside my hooded coat.
I light my fire stick,
letting drops of water
reverberate on my hood.
My angel came walking by
called my name;
gave me her umbrella and kept on walking.
There is an old saying....
keep your friends near, but keep your enemies even closer...
This is a poem about a very smart Chick...
Who was very resourceful and very slick...
Rumor had it there was a Wolf, and he had a way...
Of taking advantage of everyone on any given day...
He had terrorized the neighborhood for the very last time...
They had a town meeting , and all agreed...
That the only choice was a dastardly deed...
Chick volunteered to take on the challenge...
And majority stated, he had to explunge...
“I’d love to have you over for dinner on Friday “ said Chick...
To which Wolf stated quite arrogantly, but quick...
It would be my pleasure...see you at eight...
There was a beautiful shining Harvest Moon, when Wolf arrived at the gate...
Come sit in my hot tub, said Chick turning on some tunes...
Dinner should be ready very soon...
The water is hot , said the Wolf...
Ahh , but your body will feel so much better...
Just relax and drink this wine, dinner will have much more flavor...
Hours went by...then the doorbell rang...
It was the Pigs, from town known as the “ gang “...
Quick grab a chair and please be aware ...
That I have slaved all day for this affair...
One which will change your perception of me...
I might be a Chick, but as you will see...
I have accepted the challenge, and done my best...
So do me a favor and please honor my request ...
Use your best table manners, and please do not squeal...
And for everyone’s sake, try not to “ Wolf “ down this meal...
Soltive pre ordained priest warlike additives initially a Jesus Freak becoming cold
hearted in the winter. Bane has come with hatred of simple minded people. Sexual
orientation is nill. Macabration indentation on the quilt. A welcome matt with a towel
for spills. I have a small fortune tied. Up is not an option now. There is only snow up
there eventually. The water line is nearer the river then the streaming stream of
water near me on the highway catching all the melting riverlets as they run away
from home in WinterBane. Some men still have strength but they abuse it think to
break down boarded ruins tearing down old barns and cornors of old abandoned
houses where homeless and poor people might find shelter from the rain. Where will
they find to dwell. Because of wealth they have a large area to heat in WinterBane
they have a larger of a structure the more expensive in the WinterBane with sleet
coming down in Sheets of Ice looked like a solid wall of water hitting me Frost icing
clothing no thing was DRY ice all over me a few moments after I stepped toe out of
sheltor walking on the SIDE of the road cant walk on the roadway slipping on the ICE
stepped offroad walking in the treelined. I found what looked like a Najavo Hogan
brogaded outside there was clothes hannging on branches a Babylon Garden in the
snow. While the whole city was whited out at degrees zero. The goose has a liver.
Oh Pâté the liver rules the Goose is cooked with too many alcholic incumbents while
the minutes of the meeting Read all old activity reported long ago nothing is new
under the sun. Nothing there is nothing is there nothing in my past has preparred me
for my future education has failed me for the alcholic eye was ruined for functioning
in SOciety degenerate reborne. Nothing smelles worse to a man then sex mixed up
with tobacco and alchohol how can anyone live as porn objects and still survive the
toll booth smells like whiskey before three pee em it takes the heart to control it
takes the lust to want. I feared to die for I was sinnor I feared one day to lay
underneathe the snow ensheathed but then one day has come to eye EYE Fear No
Snow EYE Fear No Snow I am a man. The snow no longer bothers me. I am beneath
it all, My soul is not inside of me. It leaves me when I fall. As I lay here
silently,wating for the trumpet, It will blow!
I do not any longer fear the snow.
Copyright © 2006 charles hice
I love to water my yard.....and my feet.
My plants love to drink....
The cool water I give them.
Just like I love to water
You with my words.
Passion, lust and misty
Thoughts of love.
The wind was blowing when she left the city...
I believe it was twenty below...
Where she was going she already knew...
But... first she had things she had to do...
Get rid of the body that was clear....
There were no options, it had to disappear....
The heater was broken and blowing cold air...
She could feel the ice, building up in her hair..
She had cleaned up the blood as best she could...
As she had hit him hard with that log of wood...
All she had asked him, was to light a fire...
To take off the chill in the house....
Do it yourself if you are cold...he snapped
And while you’re at it get me a cold beer...from the fridge..
It was early morning when she finally arrived at the bridge..
This was his favourite fishing spot...
She pushed his body off the pier...along with his ice cold beer..
And suddenly began to shiver and sneeze.....
Oh well, she said...this too shall pass..
When I get to the Florida Keys..
PS..this is the first in a series..watch for part 2.."gator bait..the dream "
The Second Fable
The Second Fable
The Alcoholic boss:
The man was doing inventory when the lady called his namme.
“Johnny what is wrong with you eye just looked out at the van?
The tire is almost flat again eye just gave you a hundred dollars yesterday to get
the tire fixed and eye remember giving you fifty just last week? You must have
kept the money are you drinking now again?”
The Alcoholic Worker:
“Tilly you are mistaken the tire is not that low eye checked the gauge myself less
than two hours ago.
The receipt for the tireshop is still inside the till Tilly why do not you still believe
me tell me Tilly how could eye get a receipt like that unless eye paid the bill?”
The Alcoholic Worker:
To Tilly:“Every now and then they do a poor poor job so eye will take the van back
to the tire shop and have them check that tire again.”
To ASIDE: The whiskey that eye bought with that old coots money is still in the
center console eye have to drink it now today and she will knoe I'm drunk unless
eye leave the van somewhere and say that it got stolen and the bad men beat me
Narrator Charlax Android One Seven:
The Johnny worker got in the van and drove to the center of a bridge he leaped
from the bridge into the water down below with the whiskey in his hand and left
the van in the center of the bridge the tire was now so low it was just flat.
The Alcoholic Worker:
Johnny to hisself: “The Tilly will believe me why should she doubt so much eye
have to make this look good a lie is soon found out.”
Narrator Charlax One Seven:
Johnny took a rock of largesse size and hit himself more than three times hard
upon his brow his forehead split wide open he looked like a beaten up man.
He finished off the whiskey and walked somewhat surprised that his worthwhile
plan had come to a fruition in his addled whiskey mind back to the sewing
Listen as the woman talks to him.
The Alcoholic Boss:
“Before you say a word to me my alcoholic Johnny there was a Charlax sitting
underneath the bridge playing games down in the water he loves a mermaid
there and kisses all her hair. He saw you leave the van and leap into the water
my friend MISS Tilly Two is bringing back the van for you.”
“Now don't you feel so foolish the job was feeding you now you will look for
someone else to tell your lies to rob them of there wealth to feed your alcoholic
Kerplunk sound of stone dropping down into water Kersplash is man falling overboard a
boat. Whoosh is the wind or someone moving or something moving fast leaving wind behind.
Plop is messy. POP may be too many noises to describe them all. Bang a pistol shot. Boom
thunder or explosives. Crack the lightening bolts or wood breaking SNAP the fingers snap
the buttons closed snap them suspenders once SLAP is too composed. Creak the door open
slowly it comes then stops Creak the door shut on my nerves oh the thrill and excitement in
the Creak that comes. Whap is seldom penned they use wham or whack instead of whap the
hapless foe whap him with the silly stick then let my people go fish; there is a blurble gurgle
noise for fish out of water dry fish seldom heard or used the need not there in movies seen.
Calls whistles barks too many on the listing port to add them whistles hear them barks just
way too many calls from port of call to answer all the calls. Crunch is seldom heard but
candy bars or fresh apples turned on the stem to view. Whale thar she blows kind of splishy
constant throes just like running water hot or cold in a falls away zone the waterfalls away.
What people believed in 1912.
Was a myth in the truth, placed on a shelf.
Was the unthinkable, unsinkable..
The fourty six thousand gross tons of steal.
Would never kneel or break its bow.
The ship could never sink or rust.
Was rumor going round, we all could trust.
The crowd showd up to celebrate.
As the ship was Christened to show its fate.
But The White Star Line was cruising fine.
When it hit a berg, under a darkened sky.
There it lie, with many to cry.
At the bottom of the sea she'll die.
They said the Titanic could never sink.
Their opinion a myth, now she's on the brink.
With fourty six thousand gross tons of steal.
The voyagers finished their final meal.
To the bottom of the ocean they went.
A many to cry, while she made her descent.
The Titanic was a ship in trouble.
But now a myth, and a pile of rubble.
At the bottom's where she made her grave.
A sigh of relief, for the lives they saved.
To the rescue, and on the double.
Titanic was a ship in trouble..
Her maiden voyage, now turn the page.
Thousand of people, in a fit of rage.
The news it read that we all should mourn.
The Titanic's passengers, their lives were torn.
A myth of truth placed in the news.
The unsinkable ship..Would never lose.
Titanic-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
ALL rights reserved..
I’ve been watching love lately. Its waves were beckoning me. So I got up and came closer. I liked how it kissed my pale toes. So I tried to swim but time by time, in the middle, it exhausted me. So I tried floating. But then everytime I float, I sank, I felt like I still couldnt put myself into it. Eventually, I got tired, I’d sunk down and so love went away from me because I’m already in the deepest of all deeps and love cant pull me anymore.
And it shall come to past, when I shall bring
a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be
seen in the cloud…and the waters shall no
more become a flood to destroy…
Memories are like tombstones:
Silent epitaphs of life.
We prepared well for the fire next time;
But the thunder came: wailing clouds
Released their sobbing tears
The crescendo passage of the river’s womb
Overflowed her loins; wetness
Saturating the helpless earth.
Stunned by the surge of the water’s fury,
We sandbagged hope; anchored by our faith,
we levied our destinies on the upper banks of time.
What sins had we forgotten to pray forgiveness for?
How long had we cursed the drought? Who Could stop the tears of God?
Cringing beneath the cloud, whining…
We wiped away our tears; waiting on the crest.
In the tears of God; we waited on the dove: soaring
Skies; sailing in the mist of the bow’s rays;
Refracted by the savory tears of God.
The Fourth Fable
The Fourth Fable
A Jesus Cowboy Song
Eye am a strong man iff strength is not physical alone,
but charachter and hope, love become my armour
my arm as gates once opened close now new ones open at a glance in poverty
of riches poor people there in Heaven sing to Jesus as they wave branches from
the richness of the trees beside the waters running in the trenches freely given
overflowing when a little lamb just wants a drink of water another drink the water
bubbles up so no one has to lift her she can reach the water carefully she drinks
and then she sings…'
'my holster is empty my life is complete my love is in Heaven
eye have plenty to eat and to drink '
life is not meant to be a shoot em up rodeo
life is not meant to be a shoot um up movie
my life is in Heaven my holster is empty
eye have LOVE'
Lost in a beautiful garden that stretched far into the perfect turquoise horizon,
Amazed at the smells, the beauty with the breeze singing through blossomy trees
The cherry blossom danced in a light wind lifted it off boughs swirling in the air,
Sun shining through budding branches, shadows of mighty oak trees black on green
A haunting tune from the star in the meadows a nightingale sang to his loved one,
His song filled the air over water mead's nearby, and floated through great woods,
A trickling stream flowed with golden water running and leaping to a noble river,
Last years fallen crisp brown red leaves floated off on a journey to a noble river.
Listening to a nightingales opera warming the hardest heart it floats in the wind,
Then when it does not seem possible to hear a better sound the bird changes pitch,
While it sings sweetly the rest of the grasslands are silent, proud and respectful,
As no other voice can match the wonderful tune that rings through heaths and dales.
In the distance there were some landmarks that were familiar so now I was not lost,
I spotted a butcher-bird, cockchafer in the warm woods as I stood on spongy turf,
Saxifrage in the meadow as I walked out from the wood into brilliant May sunshine,
Far in the distance a horn sounded to tell workers their work was done and go home.
The early morning, the edge of spring And the flowing water
My Beloved, ask God to grant you me And the flowing water.
She was gazed in her picture, while the picture was gone with water
The girl stands on her place and the water flows
When it comes in your poem, it may has the relevance
The interpretation of scared beauty And the flowing water
The eyes of some are full of tears and lips of some are dry
O God! Combine that desert and flowing water
What an unusual dream, I always dream it
Nesar , you and she together And the flowing water
When love came walking,
she stopped at my door
and asked for a drink of water;
I never knew what to think, or
how love found her way to my front door.
I stood amazed,
the twilight in the sky had broke
and she still stood,
smiling with teeth like snow,
and I gave her a drink of water.
She went on her way,
that was two years ago today;
still I sit and ponder over the whole event,
I still sit and wonder if that was my big chance
to find love and fall for her,
but she'll be in the neighborhood again,
I'll just have to wait- with a tall glass of water.
WITH RAIN CAME LOVE
White threads move to
And with rain came love.
Longing leaning on his back
In the valley
Where meteors shower
Unexpected momentary moments
Glimpses like water bubbles
Shadows overpowered specks of lights
Specks of laurels
Sudden borders to dreams
Yonder in the sky departing clouds
Swollen rain clouds
Renunciation with disinterest
Rain and love spreading over
Love brought silence
Mermaids, water nymphs
We went close at heels
Along turbulent back waters
We sat, in grief
In rain and mystifying silence
And kept in store
Spread over us.
Rain peeping through
Rain lashing through
Geography of silence
Without a speck of dirt
Of love and rain.
Wailing hornbills, compassionate
She saw us in deep grief
Grief of life-
Love in deep sleep blushed into
Longing, sights and rude realities
Cosmic force showers
Moments of eternal bliss.
In steep valley of sterility
Ascetic sun winked
At welcome clouds
Into alluvial softness.
Rude faces, sights and longings
Emerged throbbing passion.
Showers of love,
Showers of mystic bliss.
What does death want with us?
Why does it laugh viciously when it takes another?
Why do we cry so when we loose yet another?
When will we realize that the end an end is near?
How can we, be ready, in every moment?
How can we, stand, when all around us falls?
How can we carry on when everything emits death?
How can we continue on, brushing death aside?
What gives us that false sense of pride?
Oh, that which we try to hide,
That which we try to hide…
How long will it take until the tide washes over??When will it wash over our lines in the sand?
Will you and I then run hand in hand?
Or, will the waves wash away our names?
IS it all these silly games?
All the silly things that I call fame.
How simple is it,
that the sand
Never the same as it was,
but washed away.
Like time in a bottle,
Dripping, slowly, quickly away.
How will I face the entire onslaught of the waves?
When the water is rushing in, will I sink or swim?
How can I blame the water,
When I never learned to swim?
How can I blame the air?
The air I never learned to breathe.
How can I blame the water that drags me down?
What does it do?
Can’t I still breathe?
Aren’t my lungs filling with water?
How can I blame this feeling,
so painful, for how I feel?
Don’t I have myself?
Myself and only I?
Am I truly the reason?
The reason why waves crash and pour from my eyes?
Am I the reason they fill my lungs?
Am I the reason death’s pain
One dark and very cold night I decided to stretch my legs and go for a walk,
Stars were so very clear, if I stood on a ladder I, could touch the Dog Star,
Jack Frost is busy frost on frost sparkled and twinkled in silver moonlight,
The river and local brooks stood in silence only waterfalls trickled slowly.
A frozen mist floated down and rested over the top of any frozen water way,
Becoming denser, pressing nearer the icy surfaces I could smell sharp cold,
Standing on the bank in a frozen setting was a big old oak's moonlit shadow,
The tips of my ears tingled and my breath was rime, it was so very beautiful.
Layers of water slowly flowed over the ice, that water turned to ice in minutes,
Plates of ice covered with a frost clogging the runs and eddies everything still,
Icicles hung down from branches and the arches of a small bridge solid and strong,
In the morning ice would be levered up and broken, left to sail into the distance
My life is as the waterfall
No matter the effort I put forth
I continue to fall into the canyon
With strength of hope and prayers
I climb against forces with my head raise to the heavens
As water gushes over the mountain top
Determined not to give out or accept failure
I dug my toes deep into crevices on the mountainside
Grasping for breathe as I'm hit in the face by the cold water
My mouth is open taking advantage of fresh air
My eyes are blurred by water and mist as in summertime
And crusted over by frost as in fall season
Chilly springtime spawning tornadoes and windstorms
Ice sickles hanging from trees and power lines
I die a little inside again as life is being renewed all around me
Life will go on and I will be forgotten like the ancient dead
Having failed both my classes, losing joy for my studies
What will I do now, I can't go to school for the first since two thousand four
I'm sure I'll be suspended for a year, trying to study breaking free of my cocoon
With just a year left to graduate pending my Associates Degree
I'll have to wait it out all alone this spring and summer semesters, humiliated
I have the heavy of the world on my face since I'm told I look like hubby's mother
After carrying a smile on my face like the sunshine, everyday
Just to hide the night having no stars or moon in my heart, I rain tears of blood inside
At noon we sat down under a large old oak tree on a wild hillside with masses of rocks,
The day was very warm and I took off my knapsack and rested by the foot of an old tree,
Below was a spread of orchards, next to meadows, and the glades sat with watery mead's,
Above, a beech forest that stretched, many miles the greenery touching the white clouds,
White clouds in a beautiful blue sky, shapes constantly changing shape, in a light cool wind.
Looking around there was much to see, there were lapwings and golden plovers in the trees,
Down below in a meadow a carter was leading a pair of horses off to plough a grassy field,
Then a fox crept from a hedge into a ploughed field and dropped right down into a furrow,
On a flooded mead a Great Crested Grebe dived under the water looking for some fresh fish,
And the water looked like sheets of polished glass and the sun reflected great rods of beams.
The track we walked soon vanished and then lofty pillars of beach-boles with thick canopies,
The earth was brown, withered leaves scattered amoung small pieces of rock green with wet moss,
Here and there were shallow bogs with the 'touch-me-not' plant with bright yellow flowers,
A plant whose name gives significant caution, as where it grows, there is treacherous footing,
Legend says mountain climbers make their peace with God if they meet some in a rocky crag.
Half an hour's progress and we were going in the right direction the scene was impressive,
As we wandered through woods with no out let visible the shade was heavy, deep and silent,
Then through a gap in far off trees was an opening and buttercups formed a carpet of gold,
On a bough was a Goldcrest the smallest British bird, he hopped from twig to twig for insects,
Their tiny nests made from mosses and spiders webs, slung underneath the branch of a tree.
Lingering at the well of living water,
Jesus always meets them there.
He welcomes all with open arms and
carries all their care.
Looking at a reflection in that well,
"The Lord God," the crowds plainly see.
His blood, the cross, nail scarred hands,
that has set His people free.
The living water removes all stains.
It cleanses "whosoever" will.
and offers His great comfort,
of "Peace, be still."
Lingering at the well of living water,
It's nourishment refreshes the soul.
Through all seasons it never runs dry,
His Love has made them whole......
Blue-gray foggy mist hanging over the lake like an ethereal blanket obscuring
the surface of the water and making the scene look like an artist's water color
or perhaps pastels, the chalk blended lightly with a finger tip, the far shore
barely visible from where I sit, ancient trees rising like giants, silent sentinels,
defiant, too early for the usual chatter of the birds, they still sleep,
undisturbed, only one awake is me and the occasional turtle coming up to
breathe, gently disturbing the placid lake surface as evidenced by a single ring,
its purpose to slowly expand and dissipate noiselessly, as the orange sun has
begun to peek over the horizon and that magical time is gone, those few
moments between the darkness of night and the harsh light of dawn, that gray
soft interlude before reality intrudes, when it seems the whole world
sleeps...and the stillness and the silence is overwhelming.
Sadness slowly flows through my veins
The only way is a penalty
I ask myself why did I do it
What defeated the purpose in killing
Such disparity, vengeance I created
I look down at the reflection
How could I be such an animal
Staring at the face in the water
My final decision has been struck
I turned and looked at the surroundings
Police in sight at every corner
Thinking clearly, I must escape
I do not wish to spend my life behind iron bars Inside these prison walls evil lurking everywhere Something that holds you unaware of consciousness
I glance behind my shoulder nervously
step by step the men come
Bending my knees I dive deep into the water There was a soft whisper seeping through my ears
I listened to the voice speaking softly
I swim far deep to the other side of the river
I wait to see if someone is following
Nothing but the rushing water above
They were gone, no cops in sight or in view
I cheer quietly for my success
The victory of my escape
My appreciation from the voice in which I heard Exciting to remember the very words
"Swim into the falls."
like the light
like the dark
yet it is full of the sound of steps
again it wakes up on the forest-road
taking leave from the yellow construction
all the sound of the bamboo-flute
sinks today into the green minerals
it is not moonlight
on the road it is some north-east sadness
he who comes admits his body
with the divine sin
if you are sorry be water for three days now
through out the day and night
there is the paraffin of fire-flies
the blue cough is not from the sky
it may be some tusu-gaan fly off
from the chest of the straight-line
that has been wiped out
i’ve deposited my metallic heart
to the archaeological-store of the wind
and i send rolling this bare eyes towards the fog
i make the crystal of her hair soft
i can see those crows
whose jaws are not closed
the colour is also
as if it were burst into cotton
can the anchal of danekhali sari swallow the kernel
and water of the blue tooth-brash after opening its husk
i say to the head with earnest request
oh my father keep cool
and look at the rain-pipe inside which
there is all the dances of the peacocks
in the dim light
the predecessors of the dead stars
is beside the long bus-root
yet it is still not satisfied
with the shrimps
the tail of the black drongo
hanging from the farakka bridge
towards the ganga
towards the padma
the gramophone of the mid-noon
continues to sound at the midnight
those who are doing pilgrimage
on the back of tigers
within the lighting zone of their torch
all the nearest of men who get lost
cover their faces
you know very well that the memory-gland of the wind
becomes how much river-minded when it walks through the fire
when this endless anchal of dhanekhali sari
continues to make dip-swimming
in the bottomless water of the paddy
and if into the colour of her fore-finger
enters repeatedly some whole-noons of the chot-boshekh
and from the more depth of the ceiling-fan
comes out the ordour of the open-hair of the village-orange
then with that lac-saliva wouldn’t an easy pandel
be constructed on the roof
its water will be made begin as well
that white cloud … that life of this concrete …
beforehand to it … with a garland of flowers of the sun-plant
around her neck… let her be seated on this branch of peepul branch… for once
taking the warmth of the kites flown after having a thread-cut
let the cows of man be productive by a few inch more
But my love had wanted me to close my eyes. She awaited that moment for an eternity with
unrivaled patience. For she was in love with the water and waited only for me to close my
eyes so that her escape could happen without my perception. I was the scapegoat for my
love. What a cruel twist of irony: the reason I was unhappy would seemingly be of my
fault. How amazingly spiteful that the one I loved so much allowed me to wallow in
self-pittance while she made off with her true love. Her true love that lurked so calmly
undetected, yet was there the whole time.
My love floated, dead, alongside my boat. I continued to ride as the boat smoothly and
steadily headed toward shore. In an almost humorous obedience, my love stayed alongside
the boat. Caught in the wake, her non-seeing eyes saw everything but saw nothing. Her
beauty was unharmed and the water made her shimmer and sparkle with the sun's rays. If
this was how it was going to be, I was okay with it. My love was happy. As I rode closer
to shore, my love's body slowly started to float higher up on the water. Her eyes became
less whited. As the boat slid up onto the soft, white sand, her laid half-in, half-out of
the lake. Without hesitation, I bent down and lifted her into my arms. As she awoke from
the sleep of death, she coughed and gasped. I whispered I love you as our embrace grew.