I’M A HALF-BURNT CYCAS PLANT

A silent thunder in my  heart

Rumbles across the entwining skeleton

Threatening to blast off the secret cave of the chest

Without a drop of rain expected from the horizon ,

As the burnt out bust of the Cycas blankly looks on 

With envy at birds and bees

On indolent hunt in bushes and trees

Where your growing image interrogates

Every word of love whispered by the wind

Into the crazed ears of a Christmas tree

In whose arms a strange solace I find .

Impotent metaphors of the present

Quarry the womb of the past

In search of those cyclone-hit plants

That went underground with a plaintive sound

Echoing the pathos of our break –up

Under a whimpering November Sun ,

When your lips faltered out the name of real lover

Under my eyes’ angry  gun

Burning my image into ashes in fire from that Sun .

Memories smack of rotten rat smell in the loft

Of my old crumbling house

Where I turn a temporary guest

In search of a real identity of my own

When I rush to rest awhile

Under the shade of scented creepers of the dawn

Sizzling with fresh hurts as they silently lie across my lawn .

Comp. n copy right : saroj k. padhi

17/11/14