Tasenda

The many fires that burn the heart,  Revel in the agony and screams of Buried desire, your soul cigarette ash, And all that matters is a man who carried Luck in a black suitcase full of rings made of trash The burnt salt over my palms exposing lines Of fate that I had forgot, Love faded like a Ragged lion cloth once dyed in indigo And desire slipping through the folds of Creased anger dragged over the plains of pure agony Separation puts planets between us, Neptune and the sadly named Venus, Each inch a fucking mile, each moment A rusted nail, digging deeper and deeper in The burrow of my face. A smile held together By plastered guilt Deadly madness takes control and ramblings In sleep become a divine scroll, All burnt, all razed, all rubbed clean Expect for that part of me which is She, of many fires

In absolute silence, the wind remains perched On the ruins of an old city. Guardian owls hoot The nights away and slay silent monsters That lie in wait besides the doors of decay. People tell wonderful tales of the day when The disgust was melted and poured so it Would coarse its way through the veins of the city Marked by shrines and gardens, silence Symbiotic with noise within. Beneath the domes of soot, an underground River flows, Its memory, dimmed by Sounds of furnace blasts, an old essence Once found in perfumier’s dungeon . The walls of old houses plastered With baked mud mixed with dried Grass still bear the marks of children Taken away by the shadows of night. In the old gun makers quarters, the Gun-powder still hangs in the air Like the last mourner at an abandoned funeral. In the lane of metal polishers, half-burnished Pans lay abandoned like widows of Vrindavan. Besides the bridge of poetess, empty temples Wail for sleeping Gods even as their do

I came undone at the edges Of our shared memories, Even though each door  Was unhinged and each  Window pane torn apart, I could still see your face  Veiled by your secret smile, A dagger drawn in cold Arabic blood Your eyes hiding a hunger Of the most devious  kind,  With Persian spewing In the night Your fingers carving deadwood,  Making firewood of pagan Gods,  One measure Heresy, one  Measure pure madness Niran, Shadows cried but  The fires consumed them all Unhinged doors and windowpanes Torn apart  I am coming apart at seams Of our shared past, melting  Ice in heart of many fires