The Killing Fields

In the heart of Georgia The fast foods chains fatten the black child To a venomous infarction of heart capillaries Knowing the black child who grows into a strapping young man Has a few extra genes to not make It across the Marsh creek to the Gettysburg field Of precarious life. And the ghosts of…

Puberty

When your vocal codes Turn from a piccolo to a tuba And all you can do is to feel the weight Of the descending testicles And a little fertile spurt of hairs In all the right places – even wrong And you’re stuck making sense Of this anarchy of little emotions Making a cacophony, a…

Temple

The beauty of a stupa Is not in the white coats of paint Or the flawless curvature or the majestic apex, It is found when pilgrims form queues Carrying blooming lotus flowers A flower of detachment that adorns a little shrine In front of a Buddha statue And tranquilizers the anxious mind From the grip…

Fame

Fable to sable Right to wrong In that unheralded moment You soak in glory A little butterfly Turns to an ugly moth And a flame stands In an oxymoron Called fame. Ebb Becomes a sentence And destiny is Erosion paying forward A levy of self Stitching a mask That with time Turns to skin.

Kohuwala

Here in Kohuwala, Everything is changing, like the constant flux of the ocean The once thriving grocer is like Jonah Now hidden inside the belly of a gargantuan Keels Paying penance inside the whale’s tummy. And the newspaper man who used To sell near the junction is now battling The invisible electronic waves that cascade…

The Liberal

You do not see the other half, the inner orbital The holiness of scripture, the conjecture of prayer Or the riddle of the holy-ghost You ridicule everyone with a faith And take aim at children at heart Flooding innocence in a watershed Of ill-words and profanities. It’s easy – and convenient – to forget that…

Memories

They come and go, the sprinkles And the monsoons, the drizzle and the flood We are all memory-gatherers Twigs that kindle the grail of what is yester The pasts that make us tick in the present The laughter of those cheeks that skinny-dipped On a little creek or the kiss that was not meant to…

Friendship

The 51 friends I have on facebook Is like a little constellation. It is made of many lanterns that glisten In the night sky. And when I look in to my own world I don’t remember the last time I got a call Saying someone was thinking of me. I have facebook to thank for…

A “30 something” virgin woman

A right breast that hasn’t tasted saliva And the left, seeming in the same fate Yet possessed by the dream Of becoming milk canisters – which like squeeze-bottles Can spurt some colostrum and tides of milk Down a bacteria-scarce Prim and proper buccal cavity She has mastered a lot in life – The Ph.D. certificate…