READING POEMS

READING POEMS
(1)
I found a brush

at last, I got the password :
“I am a surrealist!”

Then I could conked out the pearl
which was in my hand
All the night, which cared me with
the lost songs my grandma used to sing..
the sleepless corridors of nights
where we met first,
I sat there, in a corridor of many ,
on a clock,
Dali forgotten to take to his death.

The pearl was yours :
I found a brush,
a brazier blue,
and a seed (could be of a Sunflower)..
I took the brush to give to you
I wore the brazier to show to you
And the seed I wanted to brake :
I stay to stop its gasping..

I know you are a surrealist
Who once painted her bathroom with white
And disappeared in the sky at noon.
Who loved Blue, wore brown bangles!

The letter I got from you last, when?
In November, with a memory of coming January…
You said : we will leave the town in October
I said : yes, agreed, tonight…

(2)


Watching bath,
be a painter in disguise


How I would see you in a mirror
when there is no mirror in my room.
So I took the water in a glass
and put on my table.
The glass was of Spain,
and had a picture of a bull, though
the red curtain he saw was missing.
And the water was from a story,
my grandma told :
it was of a river
coming from the head of an angry god,
who just burned his beloved, and
went into sin of silence..

oh, no, my table has your sketches,
your letters
and the last smell you left
before leaving the room..

So, like in an old Arabic story,
I looked into the glass
and I saw you: having bath,
like a women in waterfall,
and I saw me, too,
a boy of 8
watching the bath:
like a painter in disguise!


(3)

Kiss me alone, oh!
When you come from the rain


Met in a dark room
touched by a lightning
I smelt , finally a river,
And tried to remember her.

The river beneath a sky is a call
Lost in a heavy rain; then
she came and held my hands:

“doesn’t matter”

The river beneath a sky is a call,
swim around
heard many, and return.

And, now,
met in a darkroom, touched again,
this time, like a rain…

‘ who you are?’

- ‘doesn’t matter’, she says.

Then the lips closes, closes words…


Note :
(Just written by a passionate for poems or
could be a poem of anyone in love,
written in English, unearthed near Pattambi Palam,
found with an umbrella. Still verifying – however, please send
to 20 receivers..after 20 days you may get one kiss of….)