THE HUMAN ANVIL

Category: writings

  • Offal

    I

    Here in the dim lit room
    Held together with velcro
    I await for an awakening
    There is a gaggle of gods about me
    And I hear the mice being murdered in rafters
    While my stereo melds a melody
    An edible static like
    Ants in my mouth
    And bees on my tongue
    So I spit the honey and drink the stings
    And I drown the birds and cage the wings
    To breathe, to breathe
    The liquid light
    From the cigarette between my gasoline lips
    In amorous delight

    II

    The flame of my flesh and this napthalene world
    Resting upon a rusted needlepoint
    Take heed of the dust motes
    Suspended in time
    For they are you
    And they are me
    Awaiting
    With nothing to see
    In the far too near eternity

    III

    I see stars in my bedroom
    And prophets under my eye
    Rainbows growing from my skin
    As I fall into the sky
    And there is a hymn in my ears
    That aches “Praise to thee”
    And I am drowning in my tears
    Eating a faded tapestry

  • Her Fire and Her Flesh

    Her eyes were on the fire
    Her fingers in the dough
    The smoke; it left her breathless
    Like the kerosene she poured into the stove
    The sweat dipped her lashes
    To her tears were all blind
    She was only a shadow on the wall
    Though being a woman one of a kind

    She had trapped Ganges in her hair
    And Pharaohs praised her lotus feet
    Her’s was Mumtaz’s Taj
    And to her belonged the Papal Seat
    But all that was her she had given
    In dowry for her father’s name,
    With the hope she would be treasured
    And not burnt alive for the same

    But soon a time shall come
    When a Sita will not walk
    A false Ordeal of Fire
    So blind people would not talk
    And soon a time shall come
    When a Draupadi will not accept
    The men and their game of dice
    Weighted against her self-respect
    And no longer any Eve shall answer
    For Adam’s own intent
    And let a Mother be always a Martyr
    And Father always a Saint

  • The Serenade Surrendered


    I know what it means to be
    A man without a memory
    What I see: I see
    What I feel: I feel
    In the moment of me
    I keep a forever concealed