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Prabhu Iyer Jun 2014
Tonight, I'm talking to the moon:
'You haven't wept enough?
I'm thirsting for your tears.'

Stars, I cannot bear
seeing you shiver in the distance.

How many are the dawns
where I plucked
gossamer dew on grass-tips!

The cactuses,
they've grown tall this summer.

Prisons and palaces I have seen -
Plenitude, loneliness,

riding in my *****,

as you hold me in your arms,
onward, past joys and despair

Señora, there is yet
a thawing desire for the spring.
Birthday note for a senior friend - of course the 'Señora' here is different - that's my muse, on the lines of Emily Dickinson's 'Señor'
Prabhu Iyer Jun 2014
The long shadow of seekers
drenched of mid-day suns
broken scattered
on this land of despair;

Walking nimble
on desiccated human skulls:

A father will not
return from work tonight.
Policeman, armyman, does it
matter, innocent everyman?
A child will be
orphaned and blighted tonight.

Eagles soar in the distance
obscured by fire and smoke
billowing from the assault
on our dreams and hopes.

Paradise -
dreamed of fanatical creeds;
Beyond which
is the graveyard of Gods.
Armed with hatred for the heathen and heretic, in peace do I come, truly, for my hatred is better than yours.
Prabhu Iyer Jun 2014
That you exist, that you know, that you care - this is joy enough for me.

Dawn mingles with your ruddy cheeks.

Peasant woman, I read the language of toil in the wrinkles on your brow.

Why should I love you? I ask of myself. This is the constant soliloquy of the monsoon rain in empty valleys.

What do you brood over on sultry noons?

But then, why shouldn't I?

Winter's witheration is everybody's lot.  

I want to know the hive called death that shelters tiny loves compartmentalized.

The sweat on your brow is sprinkled on autumn skies, waiting to sob out their agony.
Prabhu Iyer May 2014
A noon-time beat plays in the head
Tea-time brawl revisited now.
Lisping out a song later. 'Really?'
The fridge is empty. The late cuckoo
tugs at the heart; Summer sweat
on evening's brow. Deep down
glow, inner lit springs shadowed
in the woods. Cacophony birds
returning home. Cook, cook, cook.
Filling up sink. 'Ah, am I that bad?'
Insecticide can; Make something up:
the noisy fan; Lady in hood, rising
from the lake. 'Could I have....just
done it another way?' Walking by
the bund as the sky slips away
veiled among the blinking stars.
An attempt at linguistic abstract expressionism - presenting a persistent pattern underlying a stream of thoughts.
Prabhu Iyer May 2014
The peace pipe that has
two sides -

zoom the monsoon clouds,
summertime-bizarre.

Choices,
pieces of the peace puzzle:

Biblical, them both.

Pasts alive in
binocular introspection.

Smoking the hashtag#, now:

A hundred colour
abominations around.

Comrade, policeman,

look, our
daughters go abducted.

The last rain is dying
and the heat soars again:

Wand-love or rod-fear:

It's a battle of the faithful
in a heathen heathen world.

*#hash's so-sixties.
Now very political here: shouldn't we bury our petty enmities and focus on the common evils of our civilization? I'm Blaired, for once :)
Prabhu Iyer May 2014
All winter's
spread scattered now,
leaves
dying damp on earth;

Banging at my chest when
you ask 'why?'',

tears stall time;

Pasts ebb
in the sky, lark-sliced;

Awaiting bloom,
all of life's spread bare.
Seasonal poem of hope
Prabhu Iyer Apr 2014
Look, friend, now there is already
the fragrance of spring in the air:
Pin-hole it may be, but, behold -
light has found us in the dark;
Now distance does not matter;
Now the end is near,
when the sky is moist in tears;
I wrote this for a dejected friend.
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