Thunderbird and other poems.
Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash.
HYPNOSIS.
I came without a religion, before the hypnosis,
looking spotless on a sunrise, the therapist
held my fears,
he told me to conquer heights in brief interludes,
on the 18th floor of a skyscraper,
the sky was stiff, holding clouds to ransom,
the hypnosis ended without an existence, to my name,
only my dreams are solace,
bright in colours of a shadow hue.
From Birmingham Museum Trust on Unsplash.
Thunderbird.
In a large body of water,
I found serenity,
my reflection is a frozen portraiture
of Poseidon.
My genes are lucky. They travel through
osmosis.
I find it weird to cure my phobia of flying
when I jump from kite into the dark
only
the wave, birds and clock reply: survive
like a thunderbird on a totem pole,
in a feather-bed landing.
Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash.
This Body Hosts A Furnace.
I opened a door to aspersion
my tongue caught fire,
& I turned fire running
like hell to salvation,
I ran for breath: still caught on tread
my nightmares,
became firecrackers
everything turned fire &
I ran, trying to put myself out.
From New York Public Library on Unsplash.
Dialogue With Nature.
The path stinks of lavender, I plant flowers along it,
artistic twirls taunt me about—the tattoo of the full moon,
glowing alongside my father’s face, his beard a replica of my hair
tells me I am a humble one made of sweet irony.
on a leap day, the living intermingled with blue whispers from sea,
my mother calls them cure to the silence,
devouring my country into oblivion.
my flowers for prayer are burnt into;
incense before sunrise, shape-shifting
to embers that glowed only in the dark.
Photo by Florian Yvinec on Unsplash.
Requiem For Immortality.
The moon over my crib
looks big for a change,
my mother says it’s a sign of
how gods are borne,
out of existence to create
rainbows. What a travesty!
I look for immortality in places
close to sky,
& paint them in colourful auroras,
in a zodiac circle, I give my father’s character an arc—that parallels Zeus’s life
