Storms are like grunge music festivals
They cause havoc for those who like
The country crooners or Bob Dylan’s harmonica.
And life is never a bed of roses, or lilies or hibiscuses.
No flower can symbolize that grind
That forestalls you before it all begins.
Anticipation is a dark monster and the moment after
A frenzy of synaptic activities, like when a virgin
Decides to take the plunge to the deep end
Not knowing the depths of the swimming pool.
And when the status quo is an ocean on grunge
You caress the eye, like a valium injection,
And pray to St Elmo that the mirage on top
You nickname “hope”, will caress with the same force,
A rope, a line that you draw, to secure
A little place on a jetty, to unload
Your worries, to a wharf with ears.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Published by meandererworld (Dilantha Gunawardana)
Dr Dilantha Gunawardana graduated from the University of Melbourne, as a molecular biologist, and moonlights as a poet. He currently serves as a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Botany, University of Sri Jayewardenepura. Dilantha lives in a chimeric universe of science and poetry. Dilantha’s poems have been accepted for publication /published in HeartWood Literary Magazine, Canary Literary Magazine, Boston Accent, Forage, Kitaab, Eastlit, American Journal of Poetry, Zingara Poetry Review, The Wagon and Ravens Perch, among others. Dilantha too has two anthologies of poetry, 'Kite Dreams' (2016) and 'Driftwood' (2017), both brought to the readership by Sarasavi Publishers, and is working on his third poetry collection (The Many Constellations of Home). Dilantha’s pet areas of teaching and research, include, Nitrogen Fixation, RNA biology, Phytoremediation, Agricultural Biology, and Bioethics & Biosafety. Dilantha blogs at – https://meandererworld.wordpress.com/ -, where he has nearly 2000 poems.
View all posts by meandererworld (Dilantha Gunawardana)
