Untitled #35

A skype call now would wake you.

Bedside manners of www.sitcom
Family cats stroke covid edges.
Dim the lights a little, gently
Stake my heart to isolated walls.
Blue stars tremble from moonshine
They have seen all this before.

What is there to behold
Other than the naked night?

The child who slept away
Visits when the sky bleeds to
Matchsticks and stanzas,
Even the quiet was screaming.

Sometimes rain creaks thru’ ceiling
Sluices creek from chair to door,
Barefooted, puddles can be deeper
Tide marked, than they appear.

Listen to the rage of this river
Filtered by dew drops, threads
Of clothes we left at the shore.
Under twilight Gods we bark -
Hark! The herded angles sing
Turning acute to obtuse
In margins of withering pages.

From the ice age ~ to the covid age
There has always been savage faith.
Let the cynics crease in the midday sun.
Just listen to the rage
Our fucking rage.


*Pic. Tamil Girls with Her Parrots – S Elayaraja