are they dead?


when you were busy killing us in memories
you asked are they dead Dhaiin...and Yes,

Yes and the corner melts into other lines
words for the newly ushered imps: Kill! and Fire!

and loci for pigeons to carry messages of love
to nowheres of everywhere and everywheres of nowhere

and the mauled fox in his skin cajoling
innocence
to come out disarmed, using sweet words,

sweet promises of grape-water, golden feet
and no harm,

to the pigeons who will no longer crowd courtyards...

not yet, later maybe when the wings are discovered

yes and no harm is aging sweet grapes of these vines
poison of splinter wounds and a warm

sore in skin hurt many ways blood coloured called pride
and a raving mother of loss wailing
Child, my Child done

with once these grapes too
are crushed underneath
large leaps of mankind

in small harmless muffled sounds
unable to reach anywhere

and no harm to the garden or raisined grapes sky or sun
the pigeon shall now learn how to walk...
yes and even if the ripped apart are the wings

the lines of the corner demolish into other ways to know

after everything is lost the grapes will turn sour
on tall vines with no one to climb

yes and the concrete too blew apart with ourselves

and the pigeon will learn how to walk