they flooded the towns with screams
that was louder than voice of their leaders
they flooded the towns with their signboards
calling out for help in the global south
the indigenous living deep in the forests
fighting everyday with a giant
with force so brutal that breaks their legs
but they still stand up and protect the land
the rich continues to get richer
while poor is forced to eat the mud
someone has gold shining across the neck
while someone's eyes shine with sparkling stones
the tempered veil of years with a weave of sweet and sour
can be lavish like the pleasurable return of good deeds
take what you learn from sky high places
that bleed clouds to the hills
weave towards green with its hypnotic continuity
reach for the weightlessness of a dandelion seed
in a breeze of somersaults
weave away if lies spoken with zest
become believable
seek a safe place from huff and puff winds
woven into refuge like design in a quilt
find what's essential like peek-a-boo games
that tickle a child to glee
work strains
whittles at days
the hourglass sighs at what sags away
summer still holds the chatter of birds
young buds still weave upward
ungloving hands holding chains and fear
joy still roams to signboards above
nothing desolate
a sanctuary
Elysium
in walls that rise
in stars unnamed
My work took me one winter to a small sea-side town where I lodged
myself in a high up apartment with a window opening on to a narrow alley
that had a few shops, the most prominent being four cafes in a row that displayed ‘open whole night’ signboards. This intrigued me because I failed to comprehend how the café cluster could attract customers the whole night in the remote part of that small town.
On a cold January night I looked down from my apartment window, and saw
the road lights flickering in the mist created a mysterious exterior for the cafes. I then saw a man appear from the dark and enter the first café, but came out hurriedly, skipped the second and entered the third. After a long while, he walked out unsteadily with a girl to enter the fourth one. I didn’t see them come out as long as I was awake, but I realized I was in the red-light alley.
Count : 165
March 4, 2023
Contest : Four Cafes
Sponsor : Julia Ward
There are trolls
under the bridge
that connects my solitude
with the world of mirrors and veneers
of office hobnobs
and dinners after eight,
where the deathless ogres follow me
to perch, invisible, beside my chair
and rock and leer and cackle
at my efforts there
So, I retreat
across the long and tenuous passage
into the labyrinth of my genius
where both men and demons flounder
because no signboards are displayed
and compasses despair.
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