There is nothing to fear
when I float, nailed to a watery cross
blue clouds sponging my heart,
the sleepy sun locked in my eyes
my body featherweighted by sandy palms
and a wave comes to play.
It rolls me over,
flips me onto its warm chest
and caresses me breathless
I know death will be
a familiar wave, saltier perhaps than this Arabian one
but I fear the death that lurks in a hushed thought
upon the onslaught of a salvaged memory
that ripples the placid face of an afternoon
while the breeze fans the golden mango tree’s leaves
and sends impish gusts
to ruffle the tail feathers of the mating pigeons
on the parapet
They coo, my death throes echo
and the bleakness that advances
to grip the afternoon’s shadows leading it to
the edge of an ocean where life teems
under every mossy stone
and tries to push me into a whirlpool
where no sane thoughts swirl
A suicide point
where I come to rescue me
to drown some killer illusions
and take home to bed
what is left
of me and the day
(c) Reena R
