Adonis' songbird

Adonis is ill tonight, bleak is this music

devoid of any meaning, it is the songbird's fault

the songbird cuts her vocal cords

one by one, two for the lumps that grow on throats like cankers on trees

the third for the leftovers of her voice

she hangs them over Adonis' head, like washing  to ward off the evil eye

far from his hay-and- flower ornamented bed, she tries to restrains

the pairs that give him their blueness and gradation of yellow

Adonis is ill tonight and she pleads with her body;

pleading cranberries, pleading the river, pleading the tunes she sings

for a calmer woodland and a softer moon. Adonis may sleep well away from the wild boars.

 Her Adonis is ill for the night and she can only squeeze his hand 

and dance around the fire they light, together at many instances

Adonis is terribly ill for the night and she's already given him her voice

because she had nothing better to offer, nothing more precious to the

bright-feathered, bedside tethered songbird.

Picture credits: Peter Paul Rubens c.o. Google Art collection.

Feral Feline

A cat can spot danger at an arm's length

she can tell from afar when the world tumbles

like little stones skipping over a pond, she anticipates the fall

as she licks her paws and arches her back

waiting as the dart comes to her

comes over again

and disappears like it's never existed-

the cat knows who shoots at her with one blind eye

and turns the other towards where her black hairs land. 

We Learn by Watching.

I.

Be gentle. Stay calm. That's the what I learnt by watching them

watching me, as if I was an episode in a long saga.

I always had that face for the public.

A mixture of repair, disdain to my very eyes.

II.

When he brought Cindy home, I felt my face tighten

a dancer's bun, I had seen him fail responsibly before.

When Cindy came home, he swore to watch her,

tend for her needs: wash the hair gently like it was his own.

Walk her daily. Feed her and be company. Be a world in one body.

He made manly promises that were womanly executed.

He made the same promises before, I was the main witness-

I continued to stir the daily soups in silence. I watched them, a world of their own.

I never understood Cindy's secret, his blossoming

I stirred, silence.

III.

It was the dog show, I still recall the October chill

the chill that wrapped me in the light brown jacket

before I stepped out into the fog, he said

he hated my jacket and the way I wore my hair-

I only said he looked childish in square jackets.

A jacket insult for another, another passing note under a long margin of thoughts I complied by watching him move, inside and outside my life.

IV. 

The car next to us, like her house had Jackie, Jackie of sprayed hair and short light skirts- she greeted us and led Bruno, her mutt out. Cindy howled, and ran to Bruno

He ran to Jackie. Cindy was her owner's responsibility

I restrain myself, marched light-footed.

IV.

He smiled once her way, shame on him

He barked in my face but smiled twice at her, shame on him

he smiled the third time, but it wasn't short-skirt Jackie

it was the cameraman- what does he see that I don't?

Damn Cindy and the courtesy of dogs, and dog laws and owners!

He smiled another time but I couldn't look him in the eye

this time it was Jackie and Bruno-

I stroked Cindy's hair, asked him if he needed anything-

shame on me.

V.

I sat watching the sun across the sky,

fading in early on a fall's night and they were late that day,

but the winds, my distraction- rushed with pairs of green and red socks

the children rushed with their kites, the day rushed while I stayed inside

and across the wind and the windows

the tardiness unveiled beyond the blown curtains

the marriage of Bruno and Cindy

All dogs; copulating animals, copulating arms and legs and faces that forgot

their owners, faces that left their owners hanging in sheets

by my bedroom window,

A dog walker's evening; not a woman's delight-

We only learn, hard by peeking at the life of other people

the life we think we own

what we patch perfectly,

Be gentle. Stay calm, again. I was watching them

glancing at me, all owners and dogs.

Another poem published on Visual Verse. You can check it out here:

http://visualverse.org/submissions/learn-watching/ 

The art of mimic

I learn the art of living by mimicking
by following what others provide: an intelligent conversation, a look or
a way of life. An easy three step recipe for a dish
it is falling in the cracks that others imprint
a tracing of steps, while I discover a free way to fall
defying gravity on my own-
the key is in looking closely then sniping the bare necessities from the noise
 filter by spinning cobwebs, tight threads- whole houses out of raw patience.
It is the art of life I learn in portions like I learnt the days of the week
Sunday is for laundry then rest
Monday is for work and Thursday for thirst and party, the days into another week
along the ride, what I see becomes part of me
how close a dancer steps,
how tears form, how to break and fix-
long equations, smooth balance.
I have tasted softness on my tongue, like cotton candy
released the harder edges like boulders, whilst watching the world
go, spin in its daze, I create my own place-
for we become what we experience
we are what we see.

Fear itself

There is only a small space that lies amid fear and the jump
thin like a hair, wide like a gap of two rocks colliding  to drift apart
further away from their expected place of rest
the space is big enough for fear to open the doors and tiptoe
into the main halls of the house-
the living room, fear sits in front of the fire place
cross legged first, allowing you enough time to reason with breath
then, like a house owner it pulls out its shoes and rests its feet up high  roasting chestnuts
on the opened fire and humming Christmas melodies that cause mayhem, like the Grinch
stealing joy the way winter steals summer's lilacs
in total comfort, fear stews its food.
Like guilt, like shame, like fire consuming wood
fear stays, as fear only resides in those who live on the edge of the gap,
 before the jump like rocks that collide
only to drift apart, leaving madness to answer to the nagging questions of
the sane.

Howling

It is common, she thought to herself

the change from her skin into a wolf's fur

underneath the silver moonlit sky, she can howl, four times 

for the different winds and elements 

everything that is under her skin is reason enough of care 

like the spots over her arms and the shadow behind her lip 

she howls again, everything that's been broken was once built

and every night that's been dark is a result of snippets of days 

and so is she, pieces from things little, things strange, things unknown

herself, howling. 

Equinox

Today all is equal:
the day and the night
the sound and the sight
the dream and the fury
man and his woman
we know today all can be equal
it is the equinox of the hours, a natural call
for the leaves to fall and for the hearts to crack
gently at the coming of storm
the reception of winter.

 
-Photo is credit of Google search.