Keeping Your Sight

Stares



Ridge



Clothes of nakedness

Mystique lurks like a fat rat



Hug



Trip



Kiss

Waiting to soil what new thing I and you have—

Hiding in old shadows that refuse to leave. But



Laugh



Bus stop.

I can see your footprints

All over Amasaman

And you have springs in your step



Hurt



Work

In your time I shall see your skill

Your creative spirit reels

Wearing letters before skirts

Then getting nude when the world’s most alert



Love

Let’s resurrect the buried parts

Pasts filled with joy

Regained at instances where we tear our passion

Passion that can be smelt centuries from today with today

And leave them to be picked up again, and again, and again

And littered.

Sacred Spice

To Kimi, whose troubled thoughts I twisted.

When I refuse to go
I refused to go to their ritual of perpetual shouting.
Their incessant plea to the skies on sunny days
Where their Redeemer sits up looking down
Beards unkempt, presiding over rotten life -
Himself pure.

But I refuse to join the mad shouts
Let the Old Man pour pepper
Into my eyes; I shall lay it open
Never blinking

When I refuse to go
It is because of fear for my own madness