One last glance she would take.
The tears welled up in her eyes.
There were flakes of salt in eyes.
Her tears tasted salty to tongue.
And as she turned to look back
She was a pillar of common salt .
No one missed Mrs.Lot’s burial.
So precious was salt for a meat.
(Reading Lot’s Wife by Anna Akhmatova)
Now, there might be wind and rain.
Soon the fish would have a holiday
Like school children weighed down
By bags, heavy with old knowledge.
A storm goes crazy with knowledge
But fish in sea will be late sleepers
Below churning of sea’s knowledge.
For fish ,a curiosity is stormy death.
Fishermen boats shall have no fish
But only fear of storm in boat belly.
Time drips by like paint in a poem
Found on fence just painted white,
And feeling of ennui drips in class.
A boy sees time drip in poem test,
Like old man’s words drip at dawn
With each orange blush of the sea.
Old man’s dawn drips with poems
As he bides time to dry on a fence.
If he were poet, sitting by the sea,
Would he write elegy for a mom,
Long after she went stiff and cold,
And memory is ashes to his dusk?
Sunsets overlap ,as we sit chatting,
Just opposite a sea at its daily dusk.
We are looking at our mutual dusk
With our own elegies for the mom.
In weird dream way, we walk back
To where we began , end a middle.
To sort , we have to be back again
Start all over, on things at the top
And between, find bodies tumble
Only to make new stories of plots
With the most implausible climax
That has the wind breaking waves
In sea of dailiness, its sun burning
And dream’s creatures are bodies.
Pots hid paddy rice, in bottom shadow.
The pots suffered pain as they cracked.
They hid family’s ties of love and bond.
They also hid deaths in between them,
When a Big potter lovingly broke them.
The pots had some inexplicable cracks.
It may be village sun who warms earth
A little too much and cracks pots open.
Grape will grow to be juicy gossip
And leave a juice on unsuspecting.
You and I and they shall also grow
To be our bodies in dried up juices
And we all die as one in the bodies
One by one and one after the other
A grapevine talks loosely of morals
Just to figure out bodies for bodies.