Category: Poetry

Entangled leaves and roots fighting for existence as if they somehow knew beyond what they experience significance ends.

the iron gate creaks in the dark dawn breeze and I hear, ‘Ma is nowhere. Daddy, ma is nowhere.’

Soon the water is at your throat. Now the cool of the water has replaced the warmth of the summer day. A few more steps and you are under. But you can breathe. There is no fear within you as you walk forward and leave behind the steps of the rampart and eventually feel your feet sink into the mud. You can see the waters flowing all around you, and you are able to see what the river brought with it over the centuries. You see barges of grapes from upstream, heading south where they will be churned into wine. You see grain from northern Europe, passing through Hungary, headed for parts south, for larger ships awaiting cargo in the Black Sea.

listening to the storm outside, the storm inside

all heavy and unrelenting

and not a damn thing to do about it

And still you mould your familiar clay, Its edges hopelessly soft and yielding. Please, take up some sharp and heavy something, Shatter these pieces and burn the pointed shards.

We're born to pine, kin, and stone. Home's harsh tang to us never sours in the mouth.