A Child Wrecked in the Current

At every rain
A nose, an ear, a tuft of hair, a finger...
And the like
Flow on and on.

“Come unto me;
Come into me.”
So did
Every flow invite

At each turn,
The river disclosed dreams:
The dawn that blooms the stars;
Chasms that lend darkness;
Kisses bereft of a smuggled message;
The unsodden sun;
The Song;
Curls of smoke...
The blood oozing flesh,
There narrates
The thousand and first story.

Won’t there be–
The honeyed fragrance of Konna1 in the breeze?
The rain spattered Poovara2 of the mind?
Or a glass mansion showing the rainbow?

Every leaf suggests,
“Go get back after a dip”
To smack the lips over and over
With the Pollen grain
And at its finale
Be raised bodied forth to the skies,
Or be crept back to the sea,
Or be squeezed into the earth’s interior
Or be widened to the sky’s extent,

And as I remained staring,
Stalk severed rose apple berry
Fell on the forehead.
Savoring one of those
And stretching the sun-burnt gown
One sobs ones heart out.

Just literally caught in the flow,
Never ceasing,
From land to sea
And further to confinement
And to the burial place...

Though wings are soaked
And the nest crushed
And the funeral pyre charred
There’s certainly a little ash
To flew on and on
Into the mind and the like...

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