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 Dec 2019 susan
s y kalindara
They rest in my stomach
rule the beats of my heart,
soaring under my skin
and through my shaking limbs.
Masked and waiting,
to shred me apart.

In public spaces,
the crowds and faces
spark their power over me.
I close my eyes and count to three.
Still, I can barely breathe.
Steadily swallowing my energy
till vertigo sweeps me off my feet.

Their fluttering wings,
my trembling knees,
both daring my eyes to betray me.
They demand a sacrifice.
I offer cups of fresh tears.
Only the best for
the vessels of my fears.

I can't be careful to the nth degree.
They'll catch on to shifts in my atmosphere.
I can't even pretend they aren't here.
The beats of the butterflies are always near.


Copyright © 2019 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
Rewrote my poem 'Anxiety'. Which version do you prefer?
 Oct 2019 susan
Kafka Joint
At all
 Oct 2019 susan
Kafka Joint
My joyful madness isn't harming at all;
Even myself, I'm spared,
Because I'm crazy.
 Aug 2019 susan
AD Letwixt
on wisdom
 Aug 2019 susan
AD Letwixt
if it could be seen
what sky has seen,
could hear what words
spoke the trees

then aged would be
minds and
its wisdom bring...

we might smile wryly
as fate approaches
 Aug 2019 susan
Mathieu
The eloquence of reason, concoctions in my head.
Help me sift through life from death.
Will you, steward of the fragile mind?
Help me find the reason why?

Afterglow of the violent rains
Flooded roads and upturned terrain.
Bring me back a sense of peace.

Could I wash away like this?
Could my roots rip from the ground?
Could my cliffs and plateaus erode?

After all,
The remnants of my former self
Had no problems cracking,
like an arctic shelf.

But from that storm, from mud to sand.
The golden glow has come again
With thicker roots, and fresher soil.
All the broken things, harden your shell.

Stronger than you were before.
Steward of the fragile mind
I feel the breeze, your reason why?

To stand the storm,
The test of time.
the night with its sandman
and rivers of dream, hangs
pendulous and remote,
cools like a mist far from
the day with its
sun of fire and withering
heat, its ghosts the shaking
clouds, its flowers the trickle
over rock of a burgeoning
stream.
29/07
 Sep 2018 susan
Woody
I still dream of my father
crossing the pastures
on his one-eyed tractor
mowing acres of sorrow
heading east of a moon
that'll be gone tomorrow
turning one last time as
if to say: so long my son
there’s going to be days
of sunshine and plenty
more of rain as he went
along his way, and my
sadness waved back like
grain in fields of long past
summers and summers
before that, so long a time
ago I can remember only
on lonely nights of heat
lightning and the low
rumble of distant thunder.
A nice surprise on this Monday evening.  Thank you all very much for your reading and very nice comments. Please know that I appreciate all of you and your kind words. Thank you.

* To Ravinder Kumar Soni: Opinion entitled to and noted. Thanks for taking the time to read.
 Jan 2017 susan
Graff1980
Untitled
 Jan 2017 susan
Graff1980
I will not kneel or yield
in any form or field
to the fallen dreams
we call god.
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