Friday 13 March 2020

Bamboo

A silence so complete nothing can break it.
Not the slow unfurling of the fern.
Not the soft mulch of moss.
Not the sap making its way to the jungle floor.
The panther’s paw is a feather.
The river slows down and moves sluggish, a satiated python.
The flowers bloom with exquisite stealth. Each petal, shy, blushing.
This silence cannot be broken.
The lynx has shadows under its eyes. 
The drip drip of dew drops is muted. The rain falls gently hesitant to break the utter quiet in its home.
What demands this silence.
Where does it come from.
Maybe from your head that empties itself of questions.
Or my heart swollen shut with answers.
Perhaps, in the river, buried in low tide, lies the reason.


('Bamboo' was nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology, in 2018.)

Monday 2 December 2019

Wargame


Speak. Seek. Advance. Retreat. 
Say a word. A thought or two. 
Sing for me. You know you want to.
Canoe down the river. Climb up the waterfall. 
I’ll be here when you get back. Waiting to give it all.
Or maybe I’m not here. 
I’m deep sea diving somewhere. I’m searching for coral and abalone deep in the dragon’s lair.
You can wait for a change. It will do you good, I think. 
Tie some reeds together. Swim sure, but don’t sink. 
In due time, I shall come back to you. 
Or you’ll find your way to me. 
Our bodies will know each other. 
Our hearts will share the same beat.
Till then, let’s wait awhile. 
You at this end. 
Me on my side. 
Let’s weave a tune for only two. 
Don’t call it anything. 
No title will do.

Thursday 22 November 2018

Grotto


Spelunk into the warm dark love throbbing gripping to not let go slick with salt and semen cave of my heart.
Once there, climb up the walls limber up those vast expanses where each hurt and each harmonious chorus is etched in swatches of turquoise.
Your clumsy efforts to find a foothold in this cold tundra is leaving petechiae all over my skin.
But then you like to mark everything.
I give you a book and it comes back blushing with crimson.
A photograph and the colours are more vivid, the features are more soft.
A poem and a line is changed and the ending questioned.
A dish and the ingredients switched. Blood oranges for lemon zest. Chocolate for most everything.
What chance does a fragile breath hold against such tenacity?
Make it yours.

Dandelion


today i mourn an unborn child
he’d have my words
and your many-layered smile
he’d carry an entire village in his head
and wear a slew of medals across his strong chest
my child would walk mountains with particular ease
and words and music will make his special feast
and he’d like to argue but also to stay calm
and when he’d hug you, you’d always stay warm
yes, my child he’d have stars in his eyes
and a spirit that never says die
and a moodiness that’s yours as much as it’s mine
and a constant craving for the simple life
maybe he’d write
no, he absolutely will
seeing what brought us together
words will enthral him
keep him still
ah that child of mine
would change you
in so many ways
and so today
i mourn my unborn child
and also, perhaps, my unborn life.

Saturday 30 December 2017

Utterly Forgotten

I have been trying for so long to get your attention.
But you are busy arranging bonsai in Burma teak cupboards to notice.
I bring a few words in a velvet envelope but you put it away without a glance in your rosewood box.
I dive after it and I am soon lost in the myriad cubbyholes and draws and secret walkways. 
I forget why I'm there in the first place.
You shut the box and I'm lost in quiet and dust. 
The dust of centuries and ghosts of the past breathe gently next to me.
What does it feel like to be almost forgotten, to be utterly cast aside?
The ghosts know and now they speak.
In whispers. 
Amongst themselves. 
I am not even worthy of a banshee’s shriek.

Monday 13 November 2017

Master class

Silence is status quo and of course, you should know, my love, the best in the business of building glaciers and chopping calm waters.
You are so desperate that you put your faith in chance. 
Chances and fates and whims and wishes will take you where you are desperate to go. 
And everything else will follow.
You believe you're here for love but the room is too large for you. 
The distance is too much. And you need to touch. Albeit not strange as such.
The ice in my heart and yours has traveled to our inner core and we make angry cold sex and that's as lonely as it gets.
A victim of circumstance. 
A prisoner with the key. 
A seeker with a roadmap. 
But you don't seek or wish for or desire me.

Friday 3 March 2017

The clichéd poem of clichés Or This Women’s Day, a guide to women etiquette


do not say:
you’ve put on weight.
you’ve lost weight.
you look lovely.
you look tired.
you’re not colouring your hair!
oh look at all that grey!
don’t tell me- you’re one of those feminist types?
do not say:
you’ve filled out in all the right places.

do not ask:
so, when are you getting married?
so when you having kids?
a Ph.D is more important than children?
Surely you can do both?
are you doing nothing with your doctorate?
this is what you did engineering for?

Handy tips to speak to issue-less women

do not say:
you are selfish.
own it.
well, you never wanted children anyway.
wow, you must have so much free time.
being a mother is the true meaning of being a woman.
kids aren’t the be-all of life, so just chill!
you’ll regret it.

do not ask:
why did you get married then?
any good news?
have you seen a doctor?
is it you?
what’s his sperm count like?
are you doing it right?
would you like a doctor recommendation?
you’re not really a woman unless you’ve given birth to kids, you know that, right?
who will look after you when you’re older?

do not say:
It’s this whole modern woman idea, new-fangled notions to start a family late, that’s ruining our country. Too busy with career and studies, to do what you’re meant to do. If your mother had thought that, you wouldn’t even have been here.
maybe you’ll have children when we are dead.
i hope this year at least you’ll make it a truly happy new year for us.
how old are you?

do not say:
you don’t want any responsibilities, that’s why.
we’ll all help you when the baby arrives. just have it.
only a son’s child is a true heir, not a daughter’s.

do not ask:
who will you leave all your books to?


(Based on true events.)