Aneesh Sathe

Blades of grass

With redwood dreams

Compost feasts

And sunlight creams

Dedicated stem

And a piece of the sky

An apical bud to reach ever high

No more dainty flowers

No more depressed clones

Only the best of xylem

For her darling cones

The toothpick of propriety

From this sandwich shall fall

After the teeth of age

Have gnawed at bits

And Life digested

The bread away

Then layers

Unravel

Squishy bits

Return to clay

Child-like drawing-me

The rain has fallen.

Giving way to the shoots of memories,

Strewn along the tar roads, years deep

The sky takes on a peculiar character,

With the clouds quite unwilling to retire,

But ushered out nonetheless

Between the arms

Of the sensuous purple sky,

And the slow breeze

Which takes care to weave itself,

Between every, strand of her hair.

The past has manifested as a mood

Not only on our small window to the universe

But also, wondrously, on her dimples

And the meditations of her softly cornered lips

And so,

We lock ourselves within walls

Through which there is no entrance

Except by knowing the exact path taken

That other purple evening.

Image: As, ever Santosh

Pick pick Dear Mind,

Pick pick.

Tonight’s Nightmare

Pick pick

Shall it be the day’s proceedings,

And the world’s rejections?

Or will the dark locked trunks,

Come avisiting,

Carrying within

Burned moral objections?

Pick pick Dear Mind,

Pick pick.

Tonight’s nightmare

Pick pick.

Shall your heart be embraced

By mismatched arms?

Or should the skeletons rise

From friendship farms?

Pick pick

Dear Mind

pick pick

Eyes closed

The inside is out

The outside in

The Demon Heralds are about

They scream your sin

Pick, pick

Dear

Mind

pickpick

Nightmare

pick

Image: Me

Purple Monsters,

With UV spears stand guard,

Pleasures in a plastic card

Sparkling glasses

Strange cut sights

On the right meet the lights,

Smoke without fire,

Mr. Tyndall hanging on to the light spire

Throbbing bodies

Smoky eyes,

Questionable motives,

Screaming lies.

A little numbing of the nerves,

Low frequency beats,

To the inner cultures,

Front row seats