"I'm just light turning mortal, and
So are you. Circle and circle. Move
Is the verb we count on, even if it is
To the bottom of an absence, to the
Unlovable time, because all soft things
Have things to save."
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| Courtesy: mojarto |
Gowri Suresh
For the cat asleep at my feet, I've got
Twelve names. This morning, we find
Another, and I'm calling it Lucky.
We're mostly missing, we have to
Be. Translate. Translate. Grieve.
All the old towers have old air
Around old words that keep us young
And dying. Read back and forth, they
Smell of blood, like wings do of coccoons.
I'm just light turning mortal, and
So are you. Circle and circle. Move
Is the verb we count on, even if it is
To the bottom of an absence, to the
Unlovable time, because all soft things
Have things to save. Having broken
Means having to keep breaking open
And rearranging your bones to fit
Whatever ghosts you may come across.
To remember this means to gather
Colours off old paintings and feel them
Grow heavy in your arms till you know
You've carried them enough. Maybe
It's enough to taste your mother's
Sweat in the last drop of tea,
To crawl into a burnt building,
To fill the rooms with music and lay
Everything to sleep in a photograph.