Old songs
Old hopes
Old dreams,
Old flames
Old love, and
Other odd old things
Of yore.
Mutter sotto voce inside
They still tally
Keep up old scores.
Your fingers.
Swoon-worthy still,
Feeding me orange wedges
Against my waxen will.
Me,
Rougishly discarding
Pips on your palms
Memories balms,
Withered sedges.
Your next hallowed Mass
Offering,
A single chocolate cube.
My lips sealed in confessionals
Holy grail sipped, blood sanguine
In Rhapsody.
My room is Rubicon
Your spirit resides in calm.
All pain dissolving
Your octopus lips
Suck away ecstasy and sorrow
There’s my soul flown into your
Shadow world
Coral tears wordless chords,
On-time share’s borrow.
And your eyes cling to the ceiling
My UFO sightings
Occult ocular visitation.
I see them
Saucers of such saucy speculation.
Will she? Won’t she?
Eyes question.
In dreams,
In dreams
I still succumb,
Succubus
To
Your success.
And everything is alright
It was encoded,
Strange visitation
Futuristic time delayed.
I see prophetic vistas
Jade cedars on ebony stakes
In snow-trimmed Cypress globe
In dense olives upon sunkissed Mediterranean slopes.
I celebrate
Love in a heartbreak.
In forever fiery stasis
Devoid of hope
Or stress.
~ Amrita Valan
Bangalore India