The following is posted as part of the Language/ Place Blog Carnival. Issue #14 is hosted by Stella Pierides and the theme is “Locating the Senses in Language/ Place”.
Putrid, festering, naked,
Your broken hand begs
I cannot drop round pennies.
A plump and orange offering
The petals of this flower
Street litter to step on.
Trees sway in shadows
Children huddle and stare
At ghosts within.
*
Wine spills, I watch
It spreads upon your heart
My signature of red.
Jasmine under my pillow
Dried and brown
Crushed memory smell.
Songs float outside
Scarves, strummed words
I wind around my neck.
*
In the village
Hot earthen ovens
Mother and bread.
In the city
Hot steel ovens
Factory filled sweat.
In the mind
Hot glass ovens
Smelting with dread.
© Abha Iyengar, 13th March 2012
I can visualise every line of your poem. Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sudesna!
ReplyDeleteI love the color, smell and feel of this. Very sensual indeed.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Michelle!
Deleteso powerful. it took me right there, into those fragments of a day, those petals on the ground.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Dorothee. :)
Deletewow wonderous
ReplyDelete