August Sonnets
1.
this room is smitten by agalloch
nothing placed above me except loneliness
nothing is untouched by the body
fever rises as the leaves keep falling
rains and their fury-dance
walls have seen art of a child
now dead and gone between lost worlds
of my agility and my ignorance
in my grandmother's house of intimidation
silence milks the men on sofa
woman is always a butter, always a bread
my hands are dictated by habit
my eyes follow the memory-calendar
I have known myself to be a woman: I'm eaten
2.
I'm eaten by dear insects of affection
in the glycerine hour of the day, a want
desire is weak in the knees forever and always
no one knows the cure for such deaths
those that are essential and ritual
ritualist sits and reads and smokes
whereas, windows in this chocolate block
and fingers as harmless as the nostalgia
are my inventories for the remaining day
I have never cared for any death, but poem's
in such seasons of rage and rage and cages
are on the hunt for those who sing
where are the surviving poems hiding
where do they go and sing, is my thing
3.
my thing dangled like the seven'o'clock
by three a.m. fights were settled
love was brought in, politics pacified
whole bed was like an iceberg
tilted to the side of water, as usual
sea calls by the name and sand rises
now there's nothing to see but window
every picture in this roll was a negative
somehow cinema always remains a draft
one character is always on a journey
one story is a story of grief and unchanged
one can always be happy watching television
there's nothing much to do with a remote
when you can change the channel, you do
4.
you do not see the end to this madness
neither do I. we have had conversations
everyone is reading faiz. anger is regular diary-entry
writers are being manufactured like leaders
world is all about looking decent
that we are good at and done with
will you drink a cup of tea? yes please
then we can talk about some news
maybe laugh after few awkward pauses
touch hands and bite lips and click tongues
someone might be dying somewhere, true
but sanity is also something to be kept in check
are we walking over someone's corpse?
yes, but let's write a poem about it
