Cockroaches peering between the shattered plates scattered once they heard the slap of Shanta’s footsteps up the narrow halls. 5’4 in white socks and brown sandals, she commands the room, her yellow sari, a beacon in the darkening winter days. Mrs Tagore’s radio leaks through paper-thin walls.

Pagla hawar badol diney/ Pagol amar mon jegey othey

Out the **** elevator, she glides above dull linoleum floors to her two room cardboard box. Salina’s neon pink birthday banner hangs on, cobwebs burrowed between ‘A’ and ‘L’. She put the meager groceries away, and hung the bag out the window next to of her neighbor’s drying *******, cold air a mercy from the heat of the stove. Next door, the radio blares on.

Chena shonar kon bairey; Jekhaney poth nai nai re, Shekhaney okaroney jaai chhootey

Lamb’s breath sauteed with cumin, onions, garlic and green chillis from Aladdin’s Grocery on 14th and Jasper clings to her collar like an expensive perfume. The water hisses when it’s poured over, steam rising in protest. She traps under the lid, allowing a single stream to whistle her a lonely tune.

Ghorer mukhey, aar ki re? Kono din shey jabey phirey/ Jabey na jabey na, deyal joto shob gelo tootey.

Today is Salina’s birthday, her plastic table mat is still in its place on the three legged table propped against the living room wall. Shanta puts down a chipped white ceramic plate, cuts out a slice of angel birthday cake and lights a candle, a spell casting soft gold on the old crayon drawings on the plaster walls. She sits in a plastic chair and watches the door. The song reaches its crescendo.

Brishti nesha bhora shondha bela/Kon Boloraam-er ami chaela/ Amar shopno ghirey naachey maatal jutey, joto maatal jutey.

Each echo of stilettos makes Shanta hold her breath. Perhaps this year Salina will finally come back, perhaps this year the door will open and her daughter will smile, will hug her, will laugh as her mother cries. On the table, wilted jasmines, calling cards left unused, Salina’s poems cut from magazines, the word collage blurring together. “My mother's hands/calloused/call me/ bruised mango/this is love”. Each ticking of the clock another blow, another **** collecting on the plate.

Ja na chaayibar tai aaj chaayi go, Ja na paayibar tai kotha pai go? Pabo na pabo no

Mrs. Tagore’s song ends. The candle wax melts on the cake, the cake is thrown away, the room grows dark. Shanta collapses next to the stove. She undoes her yellow sari, loosens her blouse. When she strokes herself, when she comes, she bleeds, she is coming home.

English Tranliteration - Pratishod Ek Mithya Hain

Ghisi peeti baate hain ab, tum naa uljho ateet mein,
Tyaag dwesh gar maaf karo, badle shatru bhi meet mein...

Sugalte badle ki chingaari ko, nahi lagti der badalte aag mein,
Barsaao kshama ka paani us par, katutaa badle prembaag mein...

Sabhi jeev hain mitra tumhare, fir bair bhav ka kya prayojan,
Waqt rehte thook do gussa, behtar hain apna lo sanyam...

Pratishod ek mithya hain, mat uljho iske jaal mein,
Saajisho aur yojaanaao mein, aur badle ki chaal mein...

Krodh ke angaare oor mein rakh, khud hi ko jalaa baithoge...
Man ki chinta chittaa samaan, yeh baat puraani bhulaa baithoge...

Der nahi huyi hain ab tak, maafi ki ehmiyat jaan lo,
Thoda maaf tum kar do ab, aur thodi tum bhi maang lo...

- - - - -

English Translation - Vengeance Is An Illusion

Begone and ancient thing it is, you don't get indulged in the past,
By abandoning hatred, if you forgive (someone) , then even an enemy gets transformed into a friend.

It doesn't take much time for a burning vengeance of cinder to change into fire,
Pour the water of forgiveness onto it, and even bitterness will change into garden of love.

All the beings are friends of yours, then what is the use of aversion?
In time, spit away your anger, and it's better to adopt temperance (sobriety/control) .

Vengeance is an illusion, don't get entwined in its trap,
In its conspiracies & plans, as well as in its schemes.

By keeping the burning coals of anger in heart, you will burn yourself alone,
Mind's worry is like a crematory pyre: you'll forget this ancient wisdom.

It's not too late still; know the significance of forgiveness,
You should now forgive a little and you should also ask for it a little...

- - - - -

Original Poem - प्रतिशोद इक मिथ्या है*

घिसी पीटी बातें हैं अब, तुम ना उलझो अतीत में।
त्याग द्वेष गर माफ़ करो, बदले शत्रु भी मीत में।।

सुलगते बदले की चिंगारी को, नहीं लगती देर बदलते आग मे।
बरसाओ क्षमा का पानी उस पर, कटुता बदले प्रेमबाग मे।।

सभी जीव हैं मित्र तुम्हारे, फिर बैरभाव का क्या प्रयोजन।
वक़्त रहते थूक दो गुस्सा, बेहतर है अपना लो संयम।।

प्रतिशोद इक मिथ्या है, मत उलझो इसके जाल में।
साजिशों और योजनाओं में, और बदले की चाल में।।

क्रोध के अँगारें रख उर में, खुद ही को जला बैठोगे।
मन की चिन्ता चित्ता समान, यह बात पुरानी भुला बैठोगे।।

© Poem by *Manas Madrecha

I am terrorized by the thought of your hands
And what storms they may cause
What doors they may open
The trail they may leave.
I am scared that they will grab hold
Real tight when I am too scared to allow them to,
They may learn me
They may let themselves devour my flesh
And surround my eyes when falls become of them.
I am scared that they will be able to catch things mid-air
That I was counting on them to lose.
I am scared that they will kiss my heart with warmth
Dance across my lips
Massage my spine with the courage I need to dance through sun dried desserts
Create a welcome mat to a home that I am trying not to fall into.
I am scared that they will be brilliant and beautiful
Skilled and flexible
Everything I need and want…
All I can fathom is terrible things
My own hands shake
Because you keep giving me beautiful…

It'll break cause it's just plastic.
Map out a conquest, a Great Dane on my lap,
Welcome home mat, I burned with a match,
Matt died last spring, April first wasnt a joke,
May 9 is the first time I'll drop acid,
It won't go bad, I hope.

You see,
What I hear is loud music
But if you turn it down this house is filled
With conversation and laughter
When you take that away
You can almost feel the good vibes
Weave themselves in-between connecting rooms

I’m coming down from my high
But the drink in my palm will pick me back up
And If that doesn’t work
Then I’m just happy to be where I am

Flashes in the corner
People holding on to memories
Still portraits of how they’re feeling at this very moment
It’ll be something fun to look at in five years

If you carry a party foul attitude when you walk in
Might as well slap and kick yourself out
There’s no room for that amongst friends
There are so many people in the world
And if everyone acted as such…
Then we really wouldn’t get that far

So come on in
Think of that welcome mat
As a hug
Instead of something you wipe your feet on

The front door
Is a high-five or a handshake
From a good friend you haven’t seen in awhile

I am a motel.
many have taken refuge within my walls.
I wish that they would take up residency,
        but I am a temporary shelter.
         they do not stay.

I keep them warm and comfortable.
I provide solace when storms become violent.
I want to be their home,
        but I am a temporary shelter.
         they do not stay.

they go into my rooms and they make messes.
they do not clean up after themselves;
they do not see the need to
        because I am a temporary shelter.
         they do not stay.

the time seems to pass quickly.
they check in and say “the place is nice”,
but I soon hear them say that it is time to move on.
they always continue their journeys without me.
         I am a temporary shelter.
          they do not stay.


It is midnight
and I stand alone in the quiet.
the only light illuminating the dark
is the neon sign placed over my door.
it glows faintly.

my rooms are empty;
my beds are made.
there are peppermints on the pillows.

I am a motel.

there is a welcome mat
that is worn and faded
at my front step.

my door is open,
and above it,
my neon sign flickers  


                   vacancy

-

Amidst the changing scenery
as faces come and go
Names reflect the differences
of those we’ve come to know

Along a winding avenue
where store fronts sell their wares
Traffic lights of red and green
change too among the stares

Where sunshine breaks the foggy mist
and clear as any bell
A ringing forms about my ears,
a song I know so well

I look around and hope I see
this beauty I desire
A butterfly upon the wind
keeps soaring ever higher

And as I reach to grab a hold
with wings of pastel gleam
She flutters just beyond my reach
as if some kind of dream

I hang my head in misery,
another wasted day
The love that I was longing for
has somehow got away

Clouds now build in grey design
my smile has run aground
Happiness is not on sale
not anywhere I’ve found  

Now trudging narrow sidewalks
quite keen to every crack
My focus finds a forward view
I just can not look back

When there upon the door step
these tear filled eyes they spy
Waiting near the welcome mat
my perfect butterfly

And suddenly the bluest skies
appear high up above
This day might not be bad at all
*I’ve found my one true love

IDO NT MATT ERID ONTM ATT ERID ONTM ATTERID ONTMA T TER IDON TMA TTE RI DON TMA TE RIDON TMATTE RIDONT MA TTE RID ONTMATT ERIDONT M ATTERI D ON TMAT TERI DO NTM AT TERIDO NTMA TT ERI D ONT MA TTERID O NTM ATTERIDONT M ATTERI DO N TMA TTERI D ONTM A TTE RID ONTM A TTE RIDO NTMA T TERIDONT MA T TERID ONTM ATTERID ONT MATTE RIDO NTMATT ERIDON TMA TTE RI DONTM ATTERI DON TMA T T ERIDONTMA TTERID ONTMAT TER IDONTM AT TERIDON TMA TTERI D ONTMA TTERID DONT MAT TERID ON TMAT TER IDONTM ATTE RI DO NTMA TTER

Under your door
     While you crept
          Toward the edge
               Of consciousness
I hand delivered a message

Finely creased
Highest quality pulp
Atop which I wrote
"I love you."

I never signed it
It fact
It took me ten years
To climb the stairs

I hope it finds you grumpy
As you always are
When the sun is breaching
Our horizon

And you think
"what is this
Wonderful paper on my
GO AWAY mat?"

Coffee in hand
You unfold oragami love
Smile
Go back to bed

You'll find me though
Fingerprints
Bloodhounds
Private ****

Only to reply
With a knife
to my bare chest
"I hate your guts."

We've taken you from your home. Lush in line, your twins and elders, taken.
You lost connection to the Nexus, put on display with porous candied paper messengers and the consumers of blood, perched from the ceiling by invisible lineage.
We have taken you. We're sorry. We lament. We trade small goods to take you, but its easy.
We take the tools too. The serration, the sadism, newspaper mat lobotomy.
We lament. We are sorry.
We lament and cut sad faces. We cut the undead that spawn from the soil and ****** your innards into the hot room. We are sorry. We too spawn from soil. You feel you've lost connection to the Nexus- with the stringy appendages of chilled gore.
We've taken your insides and given you a new face.
We are sorry.

Legs extended just standing here on my mat,
with my hands together, just ready to surrender.

In this position, there is the foundation in which I find solitude in my mind.
For a little while, it is silenced, and leaves room for my soul to play.
At this point I am fine tuned to how my body is feeling.

Personal growth emerges, all while my soul is close to becoming one with me.

My Mantra- I am here, I am free.

©A. Harris 2015

Get down rock round and round
Love to her you moan mm girl thats the sound
Dap a pound
Feeling so ****** pick me up off of the ground
Feel the bass up in my chest
Music calling me this ain't a test
If you think you better boy give it a rest
Only got 3 tatts
Spurs hats
Living big you should know it says it on the mat
Of my crib when you first walk in
You know when I walk in the party has begin
We gonna get ****** up all night there just isn't an end
But to much just got me in the morning sick
Them girls saying they want me and want me ****
But I don't wanna **** I tell em to keep them jaws thick
Swerving them lanes
Turn off the lights when I see a gang
Drive pass by and my glock goes BANG
Purple smoke not original dank
All purple even my drank
We call ourselves potheads ***** what the **** do you thank

How could it all just disappear,
I've now realized my greatest fear,
No longer able to call you mine,
Guess I should of looked for a sign,
I should of known this would happen,
Something like me isn't meant for someone like you,
But still loving you is all I do,
Its in vain I'm aware of that,
Over me you ran as if I was a door mat,
Did it mean nothing to you,
I can't believe I had no clue,
I don't want to be hear,
So far form you while he is so near,

I wanna just close the door,

Hide under the floor,

It makes no since I know,

But I want to be somewhere that doesn't remind me of you tho,

Desperate as I am I'll end it tonight,
That way a happier life will be in your sight.
As I grip the picture of us against my heart so tight,
I say for the last time good night

She is a succulent bunch,let me be helpful,
if you don't get the complex chemical scent,
I call her ,"a girl of unpredictable
meeting places"inotropic, is her effect,
She sends heartbeats way up.
Delectable too, she was, every time
I tasted certain parts of her.
Her avatars are numerous, like Hindu Gods
With specific  intention for each incarnation
Onee will be pushed in to neurosis,
if doesn't completely relish her infinite variety.
She is a cryptic mystic,
for a while  from signals
I discerned and firmly believed
Or is she just a  creature mysterious
Doubt raises it's head, like a lotus
From slushy pond
My eyes met her at the level of  her eyes first,
the rest in a haze to me was invisible,
Then my heart sends a message
"Right now, I missed a beat here"
Heart then recites a poem,
tells me, it is all her making
"Don't fall in love" heart's advice,
"Go, dissolve in her completely"
Even my own heart has crossed sides,
or is it truly an advice for my sake?
Love is a hallucinogen, get it?
she whistles like wind at bamboo groves
from within sings like a thrush,
she is a magpie, or is she a koel?
Nocturnal animal, in need of mating,
making calls, frantic SMS, incessant.
She is wind and water, elements
that make one burn and drown
She spreads her yoga mat on the floor,
asks me to sit cross legged Indian style,
I am already for that in my mind,
So I spread eagle in corpse pose, indicating, "All through my life", mother earth gives me warmth.
          Shanti,   Shanti,   shanti

I remember when I was young
front door wide open
stainless steel, waving
frantically in the air
threats and screams
a child who did not know
why her parents were
not in love anymore,
or was that love,
no one told her

years later her brother
said he had a dream
of the same exact thing
though more morbid
with steel cutting flesh
our father lay in half
on the welcome mat.
that day we learned
our nightmare was real
our mother would deny
hoping her childrens eyes
hadn't remembered that day
taken a short clip
storing in our memory
but they say
we are more inclined
to remember traumatizing
visions from the past
then those times
we are happy

I’m navigating a field of dark something-ness
Sitting quiet in morning air

In these cavities where my soul perceives life, I seek a heightened energy

Laying hidden behind wrinkled skin
tucked tightly into two beds of compact tissue
in this moment they rest purposefully as if sitting behind window curtains

They serve a common purpose when prompted,
To identify objects in this limiting dimensional plane.

Some days when I come here, I wander aimlessly across battle-torn countries of thought
It is essential to let the river take them
Watching them pass as an observer instead of the instigator
Feeling the depth of their sting grow distant

Sinking deeply into the dimension where we live beyond bodies

Where I am a bee pollinating the flower
I am the bird calling out in a resounding plea
I am the wind pushing through bamboo forests

Until breath inhaling and collapsing my cadaver becomes less of a grounding cord
And the mat placed beneath with intention is no longer a chain to the ground

There is now no face to inhabit,
The world; a faint memory of molding

Here the wind isn’t quite invisible
Temperature is not affected by her power
Bearing colors, intentions and tranquility

I let her carry me up and away

Streets of gold lined with poverty
Dreams of ambitious careers ,
Self motivated speech but yet
Doubtful thoughts flood their mind body and soul like a worded essay  

Some wanted out
Most wanted in
They wanted their streets of gold
Lined with uneven skin tones
Beggars and hustlers
Baby suited with name brands of pity

They are warlike
Animals would be treated like royals
Especially dogs
Their "beloved" mothers and neighbours would be like their door mat
hatred , angry and bad mind rushed like blood through vein

Being unemployed is their hobby
Killing, ******, and forming gangs are their jobs
They would carry out their illegal duties in the open
**** for less than a needle
Then cry for justice

All beauty must fade,
          wither, crack, split, die,
                    and so too the beauty
of sweet hospitality
          loses something magical
                    when put to a test.
Splintering down to
          strained smiles,
                    curt little whispers
behind a turned back
          summon up strangleweed
                    between the gaping cracks
of a path we walked
          for so long until "so long."
                    There's a blind desire
to douse what remains
          in that left-behind radiance
                    with a drowning of petrol,
a gasoline baptism,
          and send it out with a pyre:
                    something to remember.

her name was Alice
(or so they say)
she fell down the rabbit hole
(one random day)
and met some peculiar creatures
(whether they were real or not)
she claims they existed
(not only in her head)
but no one ever saw them
because Alice was dead
the fall sent her whirling
into an imaginary world
she met tweedle dee and tweedle dum,
(who she says we're loads of fun)
a rabbit who was constantly late,
(who no one seemed to really hate)
and a mat hatter
(who seemed to make it all better)
and took her on glorious adventures
it all sounds quite wonderful
but Alice was mad you see
she claimed that
"all the best people are"
but no sane person believed her.
Alice was dead in the head
and lost to the world.
my name is Alice
and when I fell down that rabbit hole
all time stopped
I fell in love with adventure
and learned how to have fun
it's okay that no one believes me
I know it was real
and one day
I won't have to say goodbye
to the wonderful land they call wonderland

I'm just sitting here
waiting on a deer
wishing I had a beer

Or better yet some 40 creek
some 7up to mix I  seek
hoping the stand roof don't leak

In the driving rain
it would cause some pain
cold rain down the neck causes disdain

**************
In my coveralls
made by Walls
Coleman heater warming my *****

Bushnell binos around my neck
looking out, what the heck
oh it’s just a speck

On my lense
I feel dense
but I used uncommon sense

It wasn't a ghost
it was at most
something from the post

Where my binos sat
right next to my hat
and above the mat

Where my boots are
drying out from walking far
most people would drive a car
***********

Now sitting in the camper
feeling a bit hampered

By the cold and rain
it's the mud that causes pain.

Slippery and wet
a mess you get

with every step
cannot move with pep

It's like walking on wet glass
you will slip and bust your ***
then a muddy mess you'd be
wouldn't want anyone to see

**** them all
Only when in need do they call
Tired of being used
I need things too

I need love
Not to be shoved
From one thing to the next
Ecpect me to jump when they text

Why can't they think of me
Get ahold of me just to see
How was you day
Did things go your way

But no one does that
Instead I feel like a door mat
So yes I'm mad
But mainly I'm sad

But they will never see my tears
Because they are never here
I sit here all alone
So write this on my headstone......

**** THEM ALL

Poem 8
A series of very short poems and non poems about the normal things in life

There was a scrunched up bit of paper
It sat in the corner of a room
It was Tuesday

A rhyme about cheeses
Brie, Brie, I love thee
Please won't you get into me
Camembert, Stilton and craft cheese slices
That last one is not the nicest

At 4 o'clock each day, he ran
Except on the days he didn't run
On those days he did different things instead

With a start, he woke
His vision still blurred from his nights sleep
The dawn had broke
At the end of his bed was a figure
As black as coke
Murmuring the words he dreaded
"Wake up, it's time for work!"

A car drove by.
It stopped at the light.
The Lights turned green.
The car turned right.

There's some water on the floor
I should probably mop that up
But doing that's a bore
So I'm just going to leave it

I just picked up a *****
When I rotate it in my hands covering both ends the thread seems to be coming out of my fingers.
But it isn't
And I need to fit this door handle

It's tea time
I was going to make salmon
But I'd don't have any in
So I'll make gammon

The sense of loss
Remorse
He's dead
The end of a long cold winter
His batteries are finally flat
I'll have to call the RAC

Building a wall
Don't let them fall
You need to overlap them all

There was a cat who sat on a mat
In the middle of September
The cat walked lazily from the mat
It was still September

The miracle of growth
From nothing to something
The surprise when you haven't seen them for a while
Then, there they are. Big heads smiling up at you
Then you squeeze the head between your forefinger and thumb and wipe away the **** with a tissue.

On
Off
Colour
White
Up
Down
Light
Dark
Night
Day
"Timmy,­ stop playing with that light switch! You'll blow a fuse!

Hiding in a corner of a darkened room
Eyes covered hoping he can't see me
I hear the footsteps growing closer
A shudder down my spine
Is this excitement or fear?
Then I hear my fathers voice outside
"Coming, ready or not!"

David Cameron goes to the loo
He doesn't suspect a number 2
He ends up with trousers covered in poo

A Christian man and a Muslim woman sat on a train
I question, why do they not speak to each other?
Is this about race?
Colour?
Language?
Religion?
Gender?
Personality?
Coincidenc­e?
And who is at fault?
Who is ignorant? Who is afraid?
The answer is neither.
They were in different carriages.
On different days.
In different parts of the country.
There was no realistic possibility of conversation.

Many people dislike violence
The pained screeching puts many off
But if you're brought up with it from a young age
You can really start to hone your use of violence...
Sorry, stupid autocorrect!! I mean violins!!!

He enters the house
She watches as he walks past without speaking
Just like every day
He does not offer her a cup of tea
He does not offer to cook for her
He doesn't even look her in the eye
She looks down at her food
A meal for one
Again
She is alone
So she tucks the food into her pouch and goes for a spin in the hamster wheel... Wheeeeee!!!

There's a surprise on the way
A bun in her oven
I'm scared it might be mine
She's crap at cooking

What light through yonder window breaks?
Tis the garage light of the neighbour opposite
I hate that c**t

Pyar ke bina zindagi adhuri hai...
Pyar mil gaya to ye khusnaseebi hai...
Pyar ke bina zindagi berangi hai...
Pyar na mila to wo...
Insaan ki badnaseebi hai...
Pyar to mat samjhna khel ae dosto....
Ishne ache acho ki jindagi badal di hai....

CRASH

and the room is so small, so
terribly small and uncomfortable until
you remember you haven't stepped
over your front mat, you're stuck
on a door step that's glaring down at you from your feet.

and you're screaming without opening your mouth,
because the only way you know how to express
is to paint your words on your forehead
and jump through stained-glass windows.

and the night doesn't end, sunlight is a dream,
the glare on your screen is from the city lights
swallowing the sky.

We slog ourselves every day
to make a change, we selflessly try
but why is it that when adversity arrives
we let go of ourselves and break down to cry

Then we pick ourselves back up
and attempt to stand tall once again
only to have a hundred more problems
shoot you right in the brain

It spins your world around
it rolls your dreams into a mat
it wrings your body like a towel
and crushes it flat

This vicious cycle we go through every day
it is not going to stop
make the most of it I suppose,
and don’t let yourself flop.

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health and fitness. Robert of the Knight's
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(in former times) the separate part of a Muslim
household reserved for wives, concubines,
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zenana; women's quarters "the inner rooms
of the harem" the women occupying a harem;
the wives (or concubines) of a polygamous man.
a group of female animals sharing a single mate.
DEROGATORY a group of women perceived
as centering around a particular man. "rich men
with their extensive harems of buxom blondes"
Origin: mid 17th century: from Arabic ḥaram,
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without maintenance and let your heart be.
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and the United States, Washington is a planet.
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We say we have given up and yet we hold on,
How did we get here and when?

Sleeping with one eye open
And keeping the porch light on,
Not even knowing what for

Cause no one is coming,
No one ever does for people like us
So why do we hold on to this self abuse?

Take limbs by limbs out, Till we are nothing but a mass of puddle laying on the floor. Why after lots and lots of trying we can't love ourselves? Why do we look at others for a nod of approval, or desiring validation? Why don't we believe that who we are can be worth being, too, no matter what the little voices in our heads say.

We go to bed crying, overwhelmed and wake up empty, drained and we beg others; we snap, weep and yell, just to feel anything, but there is nothing to be felt.

It is like screaming from underneath an ocean. You try and try and try but no voice reaches an ear, or, maybe the world has long gone deaf to others' wailing. This is not how you thought your life would be, but that is how it is, that is how you have made it.

And how you wish some nights someone would hold you and sing a lullaby that will suddenly make you wonder why, all of a sudden, is wind giving you caresses so soft. But you have to understand before that happens, you have to get up now, and sing yourself to sleep.

Because we will find what we reflect and you don't want to seem too clingy, you don't want to be the mat that everyone stomps on. Because, you are worth more. You are the sea, you are the hurricane and why should sea care for the castles made in sand? Everything external fades, and you know this all too well.

All your life you complain about the fleetingness of a moment but you are here to stay, how could you discard the thing that will stay with you throughout the life?

Radiate the love you always wanted to have. Try and try and make the trees envy of how you take care of yourself and gently let go of the parts that no longer aid.

Inky gymnasts.
Maybe that's what we are all
Curved, poised, stretched around pens
Our fingers like those dancer ones, on the mats,
Maybe that's what we're like with keyboards
Jumping along performing each move
With a flourish, a florid metaphor
Or something matter-of-fact
That is possibly more poignant
Than overuse of imagery
(deduce ten points!)
S'weird though when you have
Nothing to refer to inside wise
I'm just flexing wildly with no mat to land on.

His fist scarred, beat-red fistful of intention
Rugged, crass unchiseled wonder wrapped in a gentle smile
A bear of a man, broad shouldered hulking bent
Stuffed-fluff heart tattooed with the echo of love
The times he grappled in sweaty- slick tangle of arms and drew blood blooming bright-crisp-apple-red upon white mat.

Beat, Beat, Beat, down
Tap, Tap, Tap, out
White knuckle-grasp uppercut
Full mount, disengage
Joint locked, feet hooked, Triangle hold
Submission.

The times he brought grown men to their knees, and humbled himself on his own
The times he never gave up and the times he gave in
To the fight
To the system
To the sweet draw of relief
The times he fought not for the thrill but to make it by
Rage hot-red facing the injustice of poverty
His steel spine riddled with the rust of life, the rust of reality
The corrosive sludge of hate, and words left unspoken.

Busted well-worn hands held soft smooth skin
Grooved fingers and velvet mouth
The scratch of bearded stubble, red-lined skin prickled with goose flesh, slick coated in sweat
A new fight, wrapped knuckles cushioned with the promise of forgiveness
Of acceptance a force to be reckoned with in her own right.

Broken hand, dreams stunted, depressed-mind-numbing
Lost in his own thought, out of the fight
Desperate to be back in the game mind and body
Envy-red, drawn to the fight of others
Soft smooth hands, short-small-painted nails calm bristled hair
Growling bear, baring teeth in silent-wounded pride
The time she bandaged pride, and encouraged humility
The times she scalded his senses the raw-red liquid fire of love
His shade in the heat of a red-blistered sun
Cooling, and igniting inspiration
The time she became a fight worth winning.