Fairy Tale

I dreamed of a large fish cresting the waves
the golden shoulders shaking away spray,
sea rising to the sky to kiss the clouds,
a curtain of drapes from heaven to earth.

The metamorphosis is for procreation
but he has been disoriented since he became a fish;
he is searching for his sex organ
among the scales glistening in the sun.

I explore the landscape that maps his consciousness:
coral protrusions, oyster silence of kisses,
algae covering him like secretions. His coming
into me is like stepping into a story book.

Black & White

If gold coins are anathema for an ascetic, what about words
that like lust tangle thoughts? Images strewn across

the noisy bazaar are the temptations I keep away.
Instead I gather stones unpolished by the senses,

monotones of experience drained of colours: these
I secret in my collection box made of Burma teak,

while the clock ticks time through the monochrome day,
and minutes crawl like ants burdened by crystals of sugar.







 Photo courtesy: Tim Dobbs