Lakshmi Mitra
somnolence
the city closes its eyes, and pretends at sleep / in these
waking moments, this afternoon’s headache rustles / a piece
of syrupy sky / the sugar of pain soothing on half-lids / all things
being similar, be wary of rest / so we are told as children / (rest
is for the day of god) / so we are told now that we’ve grown / (we
who have always been godless) / let this sickness settle
an unguent in the bones / let this sickness settle in my bones.
this, the moon season of no change / the bridges
run viscous with the shadows of dead marutis / and
the water runs strange and white from dirty taps / skin
stretched by scentless soap, yields nothing / rips like a turning
leaf / that reminds me, leaves sizzle at the crematorium
and even / your third eye bleeds / in the sunlight
bitter and runny, scathes the silent roofs.
come now, we lie on unmade beds / too tired to move
we should try perhaps, a finger or a toe, even a breath/
come now.
we are in the mist of a great forgetting / this is the place
we have chosen to die in / this the place / we have chosen
to live in / here, under the endless patience of half-glazed
spitting stars.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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