Interlude (36)

I can’t tell you where I am from. Not
the way you wrap a nostalgic tongue
around a…

I just posted Part 03.1, a new interlude poem for the series “A story in many unequal parts, some missing”. This was a quick write, though it must have been crafting itself quietly from the time the series started. Today it decided it was ready to let me write it. Read the whole poem here.

Interlude (33)

Now’s not the time to tell your story. They said. Not when the
skies are ablaze, not when we wonder if the edges can be pulled

together again, not when…

A poem from Mar’22 that I think belongs to the prologue of the series “A story in many unequal parts, some missing”. ;ve numbered it Part 00.1. It speaks to the hesitation in even considering a poetic memoir. A year on, we’re up to Part 41. So perhaps something changed!! What? Read the whole poem here.

I try to tell the birds

they said you could name the birds, talk birdsong
they said you could catch—and release— the best
mahseer in the Cauvery

they said you died
on a city street
after a common brawl

see how the soaring bird, falls to the ground when it dies
see how the dead fish floats on the surface
all our grief converges here

where it doesn’t make sense that nature is not a friend
where it doesn’t add up what a life plus a lifetime means
where transience is the only faith

strange that you are mostly a stranger
stranger still that your death moves me more
than your life

you said we should meet, we never did
I said I would call, I never did
intention soars and swims, falls and floats, and never dies

I try to tell the birds, I call out to the fish
we don’t understand each other, even to say
we know, but this alone we will never understand

(RIP, my friend, with the forever birds and fish)