By Deepali Singla
I know the path to temple
goes through the forest,
but please don’t ask me how
dense is the forest.
So, tell me about you—
how’s the blue sea attending to you?
Perturbed hands cling to the keyboard,
poems after poems birthed.
(Clatter of the keyboard sings
in a chorus)
Between speaking and writing,
I choose unspoken words,
for who else knows how to carry
the weight of a broken dam
and overflowing water?
A shack made of beatific bricks
dismantles in a second
when the city meets fiendish weather.
Building is easy, and flying, too,
but the fall—
it grabs everything from you.
I envision paradise,
fairy-like desires crafting a kind world,
their hearts like paper hooks
binding their lives and their pain.
An angel like dream emerges
then leaps into a dark forest,
like falling from a green tree
into a shadowed well.
“I am fine,” I lie,
more lies upon lies fall,
then disperse.
Truth backpacks and leaves
for paper galaxies
where you’ll find a child
pouring out her heart—
and it won’t be me.
By Deepali Singla
Kommentare