London lights
flash neon blue
emblazoned with the phoenix
in Piccadilly Circus
where energy is manic
and creativity burns
straight through the heart
of a city without fog…
if only for one night
Every language
becomes crystal clear
in a melting pot
where mussels are served
with fish and chips
and wine
and wine
and wine
that flows
along the River Thames
with accents from regions
both near and far…
if only for one night
Voices from the crowd
along the ridges
above the coast
across unbuilt bridges
in un-dug moats
beneath the soles
of feet unshod
lie unbroken seashells
dreams untrod
bells in empty churches
chime
wells’ waters rising
transcending space and
time
howls of wolves
and children whine
the sounds
the bounds
of falling vines
take the hand
that scrapes the earth
filled with sand
and all it’s worth.
Just one thought
before the darkness,
just a thought
and stepped away,
from the embers,
from the calling,
from the burning rage
and creed.
Just a thought
before the darkness,
just a thought
crept in the way,
of the calling
from the darkness,
just a thought
within the fray.
No one but you (it’s all about you).
Yet it’s enough
to carry through,
to know the voices,
children laughing,
to see beginnings,
hear songs of joy (and yes sadness)
On the day the sun cried
An epicurean
Semiquaver hung
Above
The good red earth.
The cornflower-blue
Horizon.
The jasmine’s diminutive
Austerity – and
The vanished
Comings and goings
Of providence…
Words, overheard – as
A crop
Of ashes fell:
“It’s the Bee’s Knees
Of B-Grade movies
In toto
With re-routed
Drone
Escapees’
Hijacked
Hearts”.
Now, did you – do you
From behind
Our cautionary
Catchment,
See
What it is
I see?
with the grace of a swan’s neck,
the hinterland of finance
builds on the stones of the murky air.
a gravestone is simple
but our sighs are irrelevant.
if we are cold, it is our own fault.
so they tell us.
i stand on the quiet edge of despair
and light torches.
like lady liberty, I am garden rose
in the torpor of truth.
she holds her candle to the air
and waits for gold to grow value.
it is like tending to a flock.
money doesn’t just happen.
it must be passed from hand to hand,
Though he’s god,
and who questions god?
These children of the River never stop
to make sand into glittering stones,
they vanish into the white sky
to fall as rain, to fall as an argument
that never ends,
though sand and stones in their tiny hands
are like bones and blood that lie to the body
every day – pieces of deception
sucking up the life in every tongue.
When a tree says to another tree
“I know how a leaf evanesces without saying goodbye”
the wind laughs, whistles and laughs again
Prayers fall,
Silently,
Like tears,
In the empty
Forest
Of the distant
Dead.
The pain in my mind Affect my body. The pain in my body Affect my mind. Wonder whether these two Had arranged marriage Or love marriage. Since I remain single I am trying to keep away From these two idiots. K.P Sasi is a film maker, writer, activist and cartoonist. He can be reached at kpsasi36@gmail.com Hindi Translation दिमाग की[Read More...]
She burned and tingled
within a glow,
which burst alive
and vibrated richly
out from the very
depth of her being.
Making the holding of cutlery
a clumsy affair,
causing spontaneous
child-like giggles
from both sides
of the Magical table.
Eyes wide and brimming
with the fuzzy warmth
of containable, happy tears,
cheeks of pink, raging fire.
And she spoke
a musical flurry of words
in a voice
she hardly believed
or recognized.
Sharing the ‘Centre Of Attention’
Where were Americans
when those
who weren’t dead
weren’t free
or still had a price
on their heads?
when was the time
when their rich
all were good?
taking Christ from the cross
so they could steal the wood.
What’s to expect
’round Thanksgiving fires,
blessed by charred Indians
on Puritan pyres?
Pardon me boy,
the places you see
were not built for you
but for us
and for free.
For homes on the range
