THE SIDELINES

For Fellow Amateur Poets


Riding on winged lines
We shall flock like doves
In the rain
So the fire in our breasts
Shall not die


In the hideout of flowers
Soft reeds and singing marshes
Where the moon sleeps
Throughout the night
We are watchful eyes






For Riza to Know


I am lonely here like a deserted room
In the city
My windows refuse the orange moon
The sad calls only
Of the sea
Keep penetrating


My writing table has not grown words
Of beautiful shapes
Stunted scribblings only
By the wooden walls
And the lizards’ trails
On the hot ceiling
Keep streaking


Of such weird
Acidity
Stinking sticking
The day rains detest


I am waste liquid
Spattered on cold floors
Fetid urine
Cowering throughout summer






Waiting


I waited for the cogon door
To speak to your knock


After a time
From crimson chips of clouds


Came you a poem
Like a new dream


Regally dressed in my sleep
As I breathe words in perfume



The celebration


In the morning we shall find ourselves
Many of us
Babies in slow swinging cradles
Still drunk of the night’s lullaby


We shall find out
Waking with poems in our palms
We shall chant together
The sun has come
In the manner of God.