When you ask me what I did todayI rewind in a flash to start from where you leftbut then you have only eight more minutes to spareso the spin slowsand the needle stops at the pointwhich matters to me the most”I wrote a poem”It then turns rapidly in youas you sit at the ta
After your voice has fallen silent everything has become grey I listen daily for it to return as for the song of the swallow and the beat of wings of beautiful insects neither seen nor heard
Younger than me but so much better All I can do now is praise your métier and wait, wait so anxiously piteously eager, you do not know how much for you to return looking often in, through windows while tears wet my eyes and the morn itself seems to tarry not dawn
July 21st 2015 A momentous day, a book was being released from its first wrap and poets, editors, friends and publisher gathered at The Upbeat Restaurant, Bangalore to set it off on its maiden journey. The Significant Anthology held a fluttering mass of talent amidst its pages and set off to find its destination in the hearts of readers and to make its way up in the highly competitive world of English Literature. But something set this book part from all others namely the love that had gone into its making, the faith that poets and debut writers had bestowed upon it and the cause of autism from which it took birth. As one of the Editors, it was one of the happiest days in my life and one of the saddest too for I could not be there at the launch but love has a way of reaching out and bring the stray back into the fold. A messenger landed on my fingers and though wonder struck at first, I became the recipient of a delicate butterfly’s attention as it settled itself on my hand and explored and hugged my finger tips with the tiniest of feet. A omen of goodness instantly bringing me good vibes about our marvelous book!
Do enjoy the video poem made to commemorate the butterfly landing as well as our book launch!
My skin abhors touch It forbids it The tactile glove to explore a crater raw
The python moved his scales rearranged them, heat dissipating through their mesh I wasn’t cold though, my blood bounded against his scales and skin leaping his tail spooning my waist as he left his weight invisibly tattooed on my scapula Touch me there, you can feel a snake grow
The faintest of butterfly feet on my fingers with none of the former’s assuredness Tremulous, a tender quiver of questions and I am silenced, turned inside out, raw Explore, suck, kiss, lick, flick how many feet does a butterfly need to string me along? With the last it kicked away my fantasies reducing me to a prayer
A connect from some other realm at a time when the disconnect was complete yet my skin refused to let its memory fade of the leech that wouldn’t let go of the wolf that wouldn’t go slow of the man whose nip still throbs