Email Poem

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Poem

There is no ‘you’ or ‘I’
Except that you choose
to call the fat clouds a name
and make them feel like overlords upon the others.

And, there is neither ‘you’ nor ‘I’
when we collect in droplets into rain
and percolate the crevices between rocks and questions.

The free flowing water you rinse your feet in
Collects the geography of the places you’ve been to
That the same water you now wash your hands with, is what
You once called ‘dirty’ and fed to the gutters of nevermore.

There is no ‘you’ or ‘I’, save ‘we’
We, driblets of water
Garnering into puddles,
Some, redeemed in pots of human bellies.

And, there is neither ‘you’ nor ‘I’
Little dribs charged with pain, break out
As saline rain, bouncing off troubled eyes,
A cesspool of wails in the offing.

And some others, not ‘you’, not ‘I’
Distraught to meet this uncertain world 
Are lagged in rocks, trapped prisoners.

We are all waters, variously hued
To boil in teapots and warm the mien of takers
And a few, crystallized into heart-shaped cubes,
Are nursed between the parched tongues of lovers.

Loin waters all! Congealed over time
Sneaked into places like shy rivers
Collecting genetic snapshots of their bearers
Then those ones frozen by fear, iceberg-solid
Make the routes of our ideas unpassable
A few, like calm ponds
Unperturbed by gravity and noise
Undress before the caress of the setting sun
We all are waters,
Not you, not I, but we; streaming
In endless pursuit on the surface
While selfsame dispatch, gather like roots undersea.



**previously published in Sentinel Quarterly Review

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