These brooks of love
That drive through the half-deserted evening
Tear us apart
Like the droplets, percolating through
The bond of cave stones.
And we rise inside
As the natural lotus blooms
Stoned and stupified
Never meant to breathe and smell
Never meant to smell as we perspire
Never meant to breathe the stink of garlic, rotten digested fish
Never meant to write deliberate love poems
Without adequate expertise in our vocabulary
But to be adored and adorn
Our past
Our future
By the time the vulture rest its paw on us and
Holds its head high forever.
13 December, 2017
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