
|
Poetry by Ashok Niyogi |
|
SCATTERED
With the moon really close, and fourteen percent brighter, I have at last deciphered that I feel heavy, with today’s ergonomics.
Are you worried about water retention? Take your diuretic, but as in everything else, ensure moderation.
Lest we flow away.
This is the confluence, after this the ocean, they say this moon brings with it turbulent tides, and nagging bone-marrow pain.
Without water we will be left with salt. Do not look at this moon with naked eyes, we do not have the protection of cataract that our fathers had.
Amidst the knowledgeable chatter of our granddaughter, and sparrows, martins, and sundry other talkative birds, who do not care, about the angles of their office chair,
fetch anonymity and loving care.
Even though she came to visit, when the moon was new, she left behind her ‘animal’ book, which we can read by the uncanny light of this extraordinary moon, above our autumn grass.
MIZMAZE
across the road they have started a takeaway for tiny Narcissus flowers
“big appetites welcome”
the mitzvah of Mithras is muffled in the scent of autumnal flowering of roadside trees that impart shade and unexplained allergies
dictionaries fall apart like a life hitherto sequestered by intrepid dreams the imaginary roles of nobody as a somebody like a short penultimate syllable before the sleeping pills take hold
from the colored center of small white flowers fragrance unfolds
|