Morning has come

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When I say my wall...

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Yoona

Nameless you come
and leave
Our territories
were
not of blood
but nameless
and empty
Until
another journey

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Speaking in stone

My vocabulary
of mute lamentations
of lost speech
bend to pick
stones, sharp as life
against the conundrum
I wish to speak
in stones


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Monsoon

The morning papers
soaked with yesterdays’ rains
sank with its news
at my doorstep




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Visit

When visit me
would you come riding
a lightning of bullet?
Would you eat me up slowly
with mouth of gaping bed sores?
Would you run over me
driving a heavy-limbed sleepy truck?
Would you disperse
into my veins
leave me heavy lidded, intoxicated?
Would you leaked out
of a golden nip
wiry and coiled
enticing me with your words?
Would you come
wearing an attire of yellow sunset?
Would you come
draped in a hairy blanket?
Do come
dressed for the occasion
in the mysterious splendour
of night stars and noonday sun



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