I’d travelled with the moon till it died to a troubled sea
where a tree with saving branch stronger than i
could lift me above mounds of loam that swallowed roots.
I wanted it easy so I’d taken tiny twine to the tree;
I wanted it innocent so I’d chosen a tree by the sea…
at least if the twine failed, or my weight wearied the branch,
the troubled sea & my cold body would find peace beyond…
I’d touched my sore in the place that it sweetened
like an early morning bite of a bitter-leaf stem…
I touched it the more till it became bounty bridges
of lettered pages with colour of smeared ink-black!
I didn’t cry but I saw grasses weep for me droplet dews,
I saw winds flogging off leaves, scattered on dust…
the weeping grasses, the scattered leaves, and I; dying!
I’d built an altar at the nook of a forgotten hut
where my hurts burned and burned like an incense…
I’d hidden weights of a coward heart under the tent
of wet tongue and clenched teeth till my heart melted
as death snapped his fingers at me in early mo(u)rnings…
my tongue became wet with tears, it tasted sour;
my pages were with oozed drops, dripping death..
I’d heard the echoes of my shadow call in the dark…
I’d fed my soul with cup of brewed wine to the brim…
I’d seen candle die into new body without string of life…
suicide is sinful; deep-ression is a self slow death
so I sieved the shaft from the wheat and saw light,
I groped for a plain sheet and poured my heart in letters,
folded it to paper plane and watched my past fly with wind.