Contact
Have we met before, somewhere
In a crowded train
Where associations like fleeting cars
Carries cramped memories
Were you at some school with me
And learned the contours of my face
It is your eyes, madam
They linger like a slap on me
Behind their curtains I see disdain
Why am I always angry?
Quite to the contrary, Madam, you misread
All my lines
That gravity trenched upon my skin
To plant life's sorrows in
Angry? Not at all
Rage is the helplessness of pity.
Pity then, I feel for every man
Following the coordinates of laws
Like specks on electronic screens
What about my dungeoned culture
And the cremation of its tongue
I sing the song of the vulture now
And hope they understand
Communication is not for me, Madam
I know am sure of what's in my heart
And still can braille a gesture
While things fall apart
The more you speak the more you are concealed
The thicker the veil of self
But I can feel a word pulsing in your heart
It is begging for forgiveness
But, Madam, you won't let it cry.
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