is an elusive ghost
it is a lost child
a grey morning
slowly beginning
to glow
and when it’s
finally light
the birds in the sky
whistle so sweetly
that is poetry’s flower
and the buildings and streets
although they don’t speak
how brightly they shine
that is poetry’s power
and then the air
now dancing so cool
and so tenderly caressing you
that is poetry’s lover.
it had settled in my head
like a scene from a picture-book
the boat-ride to the other side of the shore
a former class-teacher and her family
the derelict church and its graveyard of skeletons strewn
the long walk along the island of red earth with swaying palm trees
the sea rising like some furious living creature
frightening the child who fell into it
and rose with no support from the sky abandoned floating like a kite
farther and farther away
the man with his long bamboo pole picking a singing slipper
nothing was amiss after that nothing at all
all the pretty cottages in rows quiet in paradise peace
welcoming the stars so loud in their laughter
I cannot contain this joy rising inside me
breaking into lines of light dancing so rhythmically I remember.
The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).
and white
like a dream
so diminutive
its two storeys
its wings
its arches
its red tile roof
flashing
in light
and silence
the heart
is still there
in its place
you have straightened
your hair
you have shaved
your head
you I did not recognise
you look so different
you are in a foreign country
you are smiling
you are holding your child
and I am there too
how many of us had a clue
as the winds blew
and the birds flew
I am saying I love you.
stuck to the world
I mean to shops
banks
homes
they had gone beyond
feeling aghast
and were hanging
in the haze
that had collected
in their minds now asleep
they knew
this was a kind of death
they did not really know
and the knowing
was what they were
after
forever hanging
we can be interchanged
they said
we are anything
in the long run
down anywhere
they said
and listened to the silence.
The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).
as the morning unfolds
the white skies
and cool air
the cock crows
and Diwali firecrackers
burst in the background
the sun yesterday
burned me
blazing into my body
my head
I am still hot
and I await luck like a dog
the buildings are bones
that belong to others
I pee in the gardens
while the stars up above laugh
the moon howls through
its white and silver circle
a perfect expression
chilling my heart
you’ve got to live Dominic
I tell myself
you’ve got to fight
you’ve got to earn your life
on your four limbs
and breathe fresh air
I wag my tail
I trot
I run through
the streets of Bombay
like a wild hound
barking.
irons caves and the sea
blue a thought longing
prolonging into green
birds
when really there is nothing
and time won’t tell
a rotten cucumber
a thing
so a deep breath exhaled
like a prisoner
is all.
The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).
like the waves
that is the essence of life
that is what we are
then we become air
we become bird building bus
bee book and bartender
be at peace
as the boys bay
bury your bollocks
and bring boss
be big balloon
baboon boa and bear
be bright with the bully
brave with the bastard
benevolent with the boor
brim and bubble
berate and bray
but bop like a beetle
bing like a banshee
and bong like a bell.
is on fire
hearing-aid tractors
blow to nothing
in the stillness
which is still nothing in your mind
hello you say to your shadow
forgotten lost in dust
where the gas cylinder used to be
the redness with its view
charging at you
in the afternoon
this sullen day steamy sunk
so seemlessly in your blues your blacks
walking through
the old ghost
of the world
its scaffoldings its distances
and the sky so sorry
so tired
only wants to sleep
in your eyes.
The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).
how it dives
like a dove
how it is sacrificed
at the mad altar of the scorching sun
how hot the poor people burning
is this life
I ask myself
and I burst into a billion fragments
this is what life does to you
I hear the stars sing
and the oceans echo the endless waves
lashing the earth our poor mother
onto which we now fall like dust.
the fan is like flowing water
with the curtains drawn
waves and waves of air
wash over me on the chair
in his bed where I was lying down
after lunch
I drifted into sleep
with the furniture…
only the curtains moved gently
shaking slivers of sun onto the floor.
The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).
