Poems by Aroop Mitra

Poems by Aroop Mitra

 

MUSINGS

As on this wall I muse on peace
Soothing the trembling crocus

I recollect his intense gaze
Our voices merge in mute bliss

Rhythmy we sway , I the bloom
And he the fruit , but our joint weight

Balanced in the gentling breeze
For it was me out of many , he chose

Stepping off the swing , I was in
His arms , collapsing in stifled giggles

His lips grazed mine , our noses felt
What ears rebound , my head lolling on his chest

The stem twirling mid finger and thumb
Petals battered by rain , and by lingering kiss

And as I wait for him to soon arrive
My tresses outflow these fingers to thrive

 

DOUCE et VERITAS

I find it easier to sleep
with truth

than any other woman — she’s
much more yielding
subsuming my smirking
conscience

self-tapping
insidious wisdom
aureoles and other
erogenous
areas.

Her thighs slit open
as incisions ;
the surgeon’s

craft malleble under
serpentine grace
labour or love.

 

TULIPS

Sixty thousand
tiger lilies
sparkling crimson

arrayed
in rectangular
pattern

self-conscious
as brigadiers
catwalk models

cairns untouched
splashes of dried
pigment

they startle me
adazed
each one ablaze.

 

RAINDROPS KEEP FALLING ON MY HEAD

It rains all night.
I love listening
terraces all pitter
patter , lanky date
and coco palms
like milady’s fluttery
fans swishing green
Venetian blinds
just veritable windmills
in my mind , but I’m
no Quixote , so listen
instead to violent
flux stirring space-time
landing in curve like
a dove , great shutters
swinging to and fro
much too much
the frenetic hand-wringing
staple of benign uncles
hysteric aunts and houseflies …
the rain reappears
flexing its soprano organs
romps thru fields flouncing
aglimmer with organic gold :
mustard vying with garlic
breathing silvern cantatas
whipping rye , parsley , mint
huge swathes of cinnamon ,
rosemary , pepper and thyme

like a lad
and his rustic lass their eyes wet
canaries sing their spoils
glittering in tangles
of naked memory ….even
as the rhyming scarecrow
gazes athwart Cold
Mountain , my limbs
flowering , in trios :
violets , zinna , pinks —
this cosmos
savage as wildthorn
briars , just
measureless as all
the drops
in every pond , rill , ocean
sinister as the brushwood
forests at dusk
scintillating in the sheer
halo of moonlight , and
attendant stars
an everlasting drizzle
soaking to the marrow
this silence , this death

@ Aroop Mitra. April 2018. Rights secure.

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