Tuesday, August 3, 2010
A grave digger's hand
rough ....very rough,underneath
there lies the vermilion soul
of a mistaken poet.
on a glamorous afternoon
the poet held her hand,
the hand was rough, very rough,
but upon the touch
she reached very slowly an ecstatic
She whirled in a fiery flare around
the bleeding heart,
her rose petalled lips parted glistening
eyes closed ,
and she danced and danced
like the distant stars
with geometric predictability.
Now she held his hand
as " Jahanara did,
there ,here , and eternally.
She whispered the song of this
intoxicating earth and the river,
" Dont think so much my darling,
Whatever will happen ,will happen"
I shall be with you in the grave
That I shall dig for you.