Buddha & Someone left a pen...
by Yuyutsu RD Sharma
[ poetry - february 10 ]
Buddha
Dream
of a death in the middle
of market place,
a mire
of spit, semen and sayapatri,
a cacophony
of cruel barbers shaving
glossy black hair
of the mountain of your chest.
This the victory
of the hairy mound
of a tree
ready to strangle
breath
of a blue pagoda one day.
This the question
of a potency of a sterile horoscope.
This the chaos
of the majestic butchers of illusion.
This the secret place
of rhododendrons .
Tearing through
the fragrant domain
of scarlet petticoats
you stepped out into the fields of light
leaving behind
a young Yashodhara
in the middle
of an orgasm.
Someone left a pen...
On the forsaken
table of a restaurant, Zwarte Ruiter,
Starbucks, Willy's Bar,
someone left a pen for me.
Someone left
a feather, a note scribbled
in a language illegible
along the stony pavements of a dome,
Milan, Rome, Koln.
Someone left a page,
flash of a naked conch shell on an abandoned shore,
Den Haag, Bremenhaven, Southampton.
Someone waited for me
at night in the garden on a white bench naked
naked like a white cat
facing the listless sheen of a green pond.
Someone left an email address
a card, a name on a scrap of paper
in a city bus or anguish
on the screeching brakes of an underground train.
Someone kissed my dark eyes
in sleep as she laid her silvery head
on my shoulder, a book in her hand -
midsummer night's dream.
Someone left warmth
of a Sun from her lungs,
a warm mouth, zaika of a scented tongue,
Dutch, Deutsch, English. French.
Someone offered a bottle of wine,
a cigarette, twig of cannabis,
pod of a familiar fragrance
aroma of a forgotten paradise,
whiff of wet warmth of a burning bush.
Someone left a pen
on the palpable table of my travels
I leaned
to pick it up
and place it
in the black bag of my memory.
