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Into Subconscious wilderness
He knew he was of the wild.
Never told anybody,
Not to his mother, in dream.
Not to the girl from town
Who once said him, crazy child!
At heart he knew he was wild.
When moon of blood shone on
The porch of his residence
He impelled to drink the dark
Greens and deep jungle of truth.
Like a sharp tooth moonshine fell
On entire world of sanity.
He knew someday he had to
Run away into deep deep
Wilderness that lay beneath
Our day and night of minds.
prey
By the window of the funeral and fluorescent flower
See, the face of her.
The hunger does blend with grief.
She comes out to stand at a outstretch porch, stand stiff.
At the outside a spread of night....
The funeral and fluorescent flower
Those with sad glory and glorious glaze
White glaze,
That exudes into the winter of a night.
Wakes a nocturnal bird
Which spreads its wings to a flight.
The claw is still seeking its first prey.
Its first prey still evading
Evading mind and her haunting memory.
Home bound city evening
The Anubis sits at the door.
Yonder, the spell of rising moon.
The city with sighing fogs.
Look back at it and feed the Anubis
Another day of your life.
Open the window of your room.
Let the creeping pollens of death
The polluted airs come.
She does not lift her tired eyes
At the level of you.
Her hands presents warm foods
Those you junk down your body.
Fool's paradise is sparking before your eyes.
Turn the channels.
Anubis sits at the door.
Moon mourns for being bound on a city sky.
You cannot turn to another life.
The face
A face he has seen somewhere.
A face without a nametag,
Waves of memory's ocean
Becomes unruly in vain.
Some faces do not have names.
He surveys its known features,
He knows that he knows it close.
A face he has seen somewhere.
In a bus of public assembly?
In a tube to underworld?
In a road with shadows to whisper?
In a place of toiling sunshine?
In a distant island of blue dream?
In a memory beyond a life?
A face he has seen somewhere.
Closely and within whispers.
His sad finger's grave touch on
The forehead of it lingers.
A touch that defies vagueness
You know you know you know it.
Has he seen it in a mirror?
First language
"My first language is poetry
Second is English."
He spoke. His mind was somewhere else.
A window with shines,
A shine showing green sycamores.
His interviewer,
Asking about his home and hearth
Looked at his subject.
The poet and a man looking
At the distant void.
Questions failed to be translated
To the poet's language.
Climbing down
The dark stair had scared her.
Mother's bosom used to be sought.
Solace, oh, deep solace!
A space to bury head
Like an Ostrich.
She finds floating message of memory
On a bottle from ancient age.
Her cold fingers grabs
The railings of long and magnificent stair.
Fear, oh fear don't return here
For she has to climb
To nowhere.
A distant sound of ringing cell
Rising very near from her hand bag
Head sings.
A bird of perplexity sits on her shoulder.
She has to climb.
To?
The dark stair had scared her.
She remembers this clearly.
Now in a world without a mother
Her call has taken her
To a floor above.
She has been there.
Then why now?
The dark stair.
A stair to an old floor, mossy.
She knows the wild fingers of her old boss
Creeping on the floor above.
Mother, oh mother
Open your mouth and sallow her.
His village house.
Ducks gather to share foods,
A pool of lost dews,
On the green lie our numb minds.
Minds evaporates to form
Gathering distant clouds.
A drop of philosophy.
Philosophy is a cat
Reclining lazy
On a couch of warm comfort.
I am a poet by default.
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