ponderous grey clouds lie layered
like a heavy cotton
quilt spilt low, smeared
with ink or
melancholy or fallen overripe jamun
touching the
distant tree tops. coming down
behind streaked
white buildings and the desolate
skeletons of new
ones coming up. and though it’s late
there’s a constant
hammering that resonates
with the pounding
of my heart that refuses to abate
the squirrels
chatter incessantly the dogs lie asleep
a dozen flowers on
the jarul a jezebel flies up to me
a gate shuts with a
hollow jangle the hinges rattling
the breeze passes
through me like i was travelling
and i can almost
see distant hills on the horizon
hidden by the clouds
that the wind’ll drive away anon.
your fingertips
caress my hand and you eye me ruefully
but i’m not here
anymore my love. i’m gone on ahead already
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