You may threaten world all your time on lips.
The world cringes before the pouted words
As if Mount Etna will explode in orange fire
And the expectant sky rumbles it right now.
Little birds speak about it from night’s trees
The monologues repeat like nocturnal wails
As if frail body speaks black words of death
From deep sigh, a rounded end of the word.
The sunflower beds have dark kids
Who smile nicely from the alphabet,
Like flowers that turned deep inward
When the sun vanished behind hills.
Their little bees have nowhere to go.
Wait, let the sun come from the hills.
This fleeting requires us all
And fleeting that we all are
And we fade away like dogs
Just fed in night by woman.
Her daughter is fleeting too
In a night she has existed in.
Masks go green on tops of whites,
When they bleed body to its hope.
Wear dance of a green expression
And move eyes in exquisite dance.
Wear scarf on the face if need be.
You can hide all sadness behind it.
Nice to hear our old are comorbid
And in any case, die in due course.
Good news is our corpses multiply
Only twice over four and half days.
Italians died, at a much faster rate.
Their old leave beds for the young.
We are locked in ,against a clang
Of meal-plates in lights of candle
As candles would sing a defiance
In the broken nights of a balcony.
About a century after Spanish flu,
Corona landed in perfect rhythm.
Almond has sparrows in foliage.
Sparrows chatter with impunity.
They have not heard lock down.
The house casts its eyes on sea.
Sea turtles have no fear of cops.
Fish have not heard a lockdown.
Waves rush with an enthusiasm
Not shared by cop guys on duty.
One enters darkness of coconut
Not to unzip pant for their moon.
The sea is drowned, in the night,
Froth glistening, as in milky way.
It was not our long enough voyage,
With Posiedons and Laistrygonians
And missing out one-eyed Cyclops,
Who was blind to us in his one eye.
We have returned , in heads heavy
With reddish crown of risky thorns.
If only we had found the one-eyed,
We could tell better Ithaka stories.
( Following C.V. Cavafy’s poem ITHAKA)
Why a silence, asks hungry dog
From the hollow of its stomach.
Crows are assessing sea waves
By silences of fish they wash up.
Why a silence, eagle pierces call
In lockdown by Corona’s threat.
The poet dad wonders in poem,
Why such a noise about the sea.
The Morning is Just a Dream 