Misty words billow in the cold
Pluming from their mouths
Quiet swearing and first *** coughing
They walk close to hedgerows
Kicking the dew from the grass
As birds squabble over breakfast
And mushrooms are still socialising
They whistle the dogs to heel
All panting and wagging tails
Stirring the dawn damp air
For happy is the early dog
In these sumptuous fields

Now the business of dawn begins
Low sharp commands are uttered
Bringing the younger bounding learners
To a proper sense of purpose
And that high-toned cross breed
The sleek and swift lurcher
Is eternally proud and primed
This long-sprint racer
Takes inevitable chase
Without sentiment or concious cruelty
An ancient craft is practised here
With the dogs at dawn

                                By Phil Roberts

If I could
Swallow liquid fire
And replace
The traces of
Your name in my
Bloodstream
With burning,
Cleansing flame,
Then I would
Drink until
I was consumed
No more
By scathing
Thoughts
Of you

याद पिया की आए

i  miss you.
my disgruntled face,
constant gnarling at the sun
might have already betrayed
how much i hate the summer.

i hate the summer,
i miss you.

i miss your movement across the earth
as you
t i p t o e / march,
tread lightly* / thunder in,
caress / trample,
r e j u v e n a t e / strangle.

most of all,
i miss you because
i wish you would rush in,
darken the skies with clouds
like kajal for a goddess.
shove the sun
under a celestial carpet
woven from cool water
and colder skies.

i miss you.
my hatred for the sun
only progresses with the months
till july, till you descend.

they say that when love arrives,
you can hear a hundred violins,
you can see the colours in every living thing.
when you arrive,
i see only joy -  
pure liquid joy.

i miss you.

Suddenly
The world is still and
The flutter of wings
In my stomach
Has hushed
And I can see
You drifting
Before I've felt
Your touch.
Never have I
Known a soul
That mirrored mine
So much.