Atonal Desire
Nor
I wish to be soil forth
neither
any fossil nor skeleton!
Or
erosion will aspire else
to
touch the land of eternal alluvions.
And
earth has the crinkling pain,
unquenchable
thirst of desert,
and
a lump of clay lurks always
to
be coddled between potter’s palm,
a
fable of Crafts!
The
wild crows or ravens,
are
not the Poet’s birds.
The
foxes or the rats
are
all the mortal beast – ‘ugly, ominous!’
All
the ladies of love,
like
great Belinda’s heart
love
to caress the kitties or ‘lovely’ Pomeranians.
The
birth?
Meteors’
tricks either
or
never curing sore –
or
the “tale told by an idiot”!
So,
this time, hence,
neither
I wish to be soil
nor
in water nor air
nor
as human nor beast –
I
cease my all yearnings!
But,
if the fire sends the letter –
Once,
I want to be burnt!
No…
No…
Not
to turn all into ashes!
Like
a little candle,
The
Light –
I
wish to set alight,
to
attune my atonal desires!
(Published in Poetcrit 30.1 (Jan-
June 2017): 136)