Blueprint Of Lies
It's raining, once again like before, in torrents.
I remember you as much in my dreams
as everywhere; when you wade in the water,
in my mind's fantasy, fluttering droplets
in the jealous wind - the things I'd think of
as crystals, in the reality I refuse to love,
you run faster and across a desert to some
greenery, far away with the heart torn apart
from this rib-cage of mine. And sad it is -
not me harvesting the smiles you hang
on your lips - still thirsty for that wished-for
wetness you leave somewhere for someone
else, leaving me in the roughest drought.
It's raining. And in this stretch of the tropics,
the monsoon's already set in, its steady pattering
on streets parched as mud-slabs on a river's
islet, on that slum's corrugated tin-roofs
and on the park-benches we felt our buttocks
burn in summer. Forget about the slow burn
of memories that disturb like pop-up adds online
even if we often let our love's vowels slave
at consonants of doubt. Watch things wearing
the rain's shawl and see for yourself what it
does to feelings printed in a desert's alphabet.
The desert we long hid inside is now a swamp
where frogs start off croaking and fish leaping,
crystals washing the dirt off their scales - glitters
of silver out in the remaining rays. Let's go melt
the blue of the blueprint of our conscious lies.
from IN LOVE WITH A GORGON (2010)