these bleddy women don't have tongues

these bleddy women don't have tongues
their belief they speak is
their​ first illusion

i find my tongue tied to
adam's apple

the bowl he gave
homes a crack
do you hear it drip drip drip...

all our blood
into the sea of silence it is red

"take these words and
barter us back
our wombs, you morons"

those verbs don't work
nor does his adjective
clauses or nouns
proverbs mock us
and some stand dumb at our feet
like his many hapless children

i pick one
out of hunger
and my eyes squint at
the sour grape, i throw it

we learn
the day is never born
in his orchard
we persist
ape, try and ape
play-act
it still bleddy won't.

i watch
two white birds dissolve
into the blue

and orange
swallowing the sun

frustration
rapes our nights, and
the old hag hides behind
her veil of clouds, dumb

and moody,
one of us:
her many daughters

... without language
this moon
has led better lives.

we go about pocketing words
like orange pips
believing we need them...

until someone says,
"but hey, there is no more magic
anywhere.

the trade is treacherous, and
war is rotten.
Let's just spit the orange pips
up his face"

the end will not be flamboyant

the end will not be flamboyant
the night will not gobble me up
the frogs will not sing goodbye
and no rose will be hustled down the lane
the petals would remain fresh untill the vase is changed
as the morning returns
into newer hands and a newer face and a newer sun
the man beside looks tidier than the other.
the bed will be made, the house will be
spread, the walls painted
there will not be a trace of how
you sneaked in
there will be no broken windows,
no twisted doorknobs
not a blotch of red
nor an empty glass of wine with a stain
there won't be anything unsightly, I assure.
just lullaby with the breeze
to the whiteness of my curtains,
and let me fall asleep.

04/05/2017

my body smells of old age

my body smells of old age
and the odour that wafts through
abandoned towns

but mostly it smells
of just waiting.

my hairline recedes into the sea
swifter than an ebbing tide
and my mind traces the footprints of
senility on a trance.

i gulp a culpable amount of
time my throat could barely allow...
i breathe

filling my lungs with salty hope
i would go into the rabbit hole
and emerge an Alice, but no,

i fall deeper into my own abyss
toes sinking in a quicksand of
memories, groping for

a better hold, the sea awaiting,
i erode, sand, smell, memory and all
in a sea of light, as my skin
becomes​ the green of the sea,
i see

the sea too now awaits
your touch
and the green light smells of
eternity.

(03/05/2017)