You stood there unsteadily
at my bedroom door,
holding your glass eye
in your palsied hand and asked me
if I’d ever seen one before.
Can’t say that I have, Aunt Mary.
You held it like an offering,
moonlit and lidless,
as if it might see me better
than you could that night—
or remember what
time had stolen.
They said you once owned
a bordello in Chicago,
and had connections with the mob,
but I didn’t know if that was true.
I did know you
roamed the country
with strange, obsequious men
who trailed behind
like footnotes to your stories.
And yet you were the one
who gave me the best gifts—
a microscope, an erector set,
science kits with powders and wires—
things no one else thought to give,
as if you knew I needed
wonder more than sugar.
You nodded once,
slipped it into your pocket
as if nothing strange had happened,
and vanished down the stairwell—
leaving only the faint scent
of camphor and questions,
and a silence I still
haven’t found the bottom of.
Categories:
camphor, age, memory, mystery, myth,
Form: Free verse
I had to have the camphor essence,
Not much was required of me,
I just picked a bought crystal,
And set it ablaze,
But the animates that you are testing,
Are not “bought’ abinitio by you,
They assess you and your “fire”,
And if they find,
That you have not come up the same way,
And are just pretending to be thus,
Lighting a fire which is not just that,
They would blow the fire out in your face,
And you will be left,
Only with acrid smoke,
and a fractured credibility,
which is impossible to mend and repair.
Categories:
camphor, fire, fire,
Form: Free verse
The camphor was burnt in a spoon all right,
But the fire did set it ablaze,
For inanimate camphor the fire was,
Good enough to burn it to ashes,
But for animate it cannot be so,
For survival is their biggest instinct,
So “fire” has to be fine tuned,
To set a generally acceptable hurdle gate,
And those who cross it fast and first,
Must get from your bag the best,
Now it probably would be too hard,
To conclude that,
To show your real worth,
You must be burnt to dust,
And if somebody attempts you with that,
Then he is not testing your worth,
He in fact is destroying you to a certain death.
Categories:
camphor, fire, fire,
Form: Free verse
I had burned camphor all right,
Did I do so in my bare hands,
No I burnt it contained in a spoon,
Spoon also took the heat and,
Contributed nothing short,
For production of the essence of camphor,
But spoon was just taken for granted,
It was inanimate and took all the heat,
Now extend it to animates,
Who surround the particular animate,
Whose worth you are about to assess,
They also feel the heat,
And start running the very first second ,
They feel the heat,
Exposing the target animate,
To your direct blow of heat,
Now run,stand and take it on depends only upon,
As to how much of it he can take.
Categories:
camphor,
Form: Free verse
Camphor had to burn to ashes,
To make known its heavenly worth,
But did I realize for once,
That it was inanimate,
And could not escape the fire,
That I set it ablaze with,
It is all together different with animate,
You can “burn”them deep enough,
To vet the rewards they are angling for,
However no reward compares to extinction,
Faced with it animate is going to run,
Human or otherwise,
And run farther than you could think,
Away from point of extinction,
And you could probably say,
With disdain,
That he could not withstand the heat,
And thereby just did not deserve the “seat”,
Also you might go out and search,
To the nearest available of runaways,
Collar him hard and fast,
And say you did not run much and thereby are the best.
Categories:
camphor,
Form: Free verse
The crystalline camphor felt hard enough,
As I palmed it before igniting,
Fire was brought near,
And it burnt really all right,
Spreading that heavenly vapor,
It filled my nostrils and senses,
To no end,
It was in this desirable stupor of vapor,
That I realized,
That the hard camphor had to burn,
And yeah,burn right to ashes,
To make everybody feel its essence,
It was kind of humbled to death,
For me to assess its worth,
Say its true for us all,
Humbled we all must be,
Even if just about near death,
Only then do we get the world,
To know our real worth
Categories:
camphor,
Form: Free verse