The night is terraced by empty houses,
Guttered by feathers
Of a windswept sonnet.
Pillowed on the whispering ashes,
My heart dwells in embers
Curled on the cold slab hearthstones.
Shipwrecks ferry fire across continents.
It wasn’t pearls we
Swallowed to light our souls,
But furniture dust &
Of the glint from vases which
Housed putrid water
After flowers had died.
Scent of rain in your hair
Colours my breath with redemption,
You crush my burning lips as ashes.
We’ll gaze through Siruvani waterfall
At any gap in the frisky foam
& see there…..
The first footprint of the sun.