Friday, August 24, 2012

For gods' sake

I love how often you think of god. You called Jesus when I spilled non-sacramental wine on your new linen just before we made crazy love.

You called him again when we made love.

And once after, while looking for the lighter.

God only knows, you always say, but you always know everything too.

You will go get ice cream tomorrow Inshallah, for, why not, when he is god of things
both big and small?

With you, Rama always defers to Ayyo and is utterly powerless when your palms
don't smack your forehead.

To sit or stand you need both hands and Kadavule to propel you up or down.

And I still don't know why I do things for God's sake, when they piss you off anyway.

When I sneak-eat at night, you catch me sometimes and put the fear of god in me, though,
by your own admission, the hour is not only late but ungodly too.

Golddigger Sun

A little while ago, the sun was shovelling gold behind the mountains. It appeared to be in a hurry; perhaps the day was running out. In its mad, last-minute work, it sent up the gold dust flying everywhere. They lay suspended in the cold mountain air after the rains, stuck themselves to the clouds, and even clung to my skin. Therefore, I glow.

Like moth to flame

In my previous world, moths went elsewhere to die. Now they throw themselves with vehemence over and over against window panes, showing such heartbreaking passion for any little light they can see. In the mornings, they lie dead in full view, and I walk past them like a soldier surveying the wreckage of previous night's violence. And I wonder if I was spared because my unwinged, two-legged quest for light is far less threatening than their wholehearted thrashing against the glasses of the world.