Poetry Corner

Gray Mornings
By: Komalroop Kaler

A silver puddle floods my rose garden

my knees scrape against the cold cement floor 

I smudge water droplets off glossy leaves 

sweet Rain, chilly August winds coalesce 

pink petals fall and drift toward green grass

I sweep the softness back into brown soil 

Wet cascades kissing the back of my neck 

like a mother’s hug Rain drapes my body 

I close my eyes, I bow my head and smile 

stretching my arms, I lock my body tight 

slippery fingers cradle my spirit

nails dig into my rose-coloured jacket 

I nestle my head into her warm chest 

like a child I cocoon into her lap

as she combs through my tangled brown hair strands

she sings hymns into my ears and lets go

In the Autumn Gold
By: Kaitlyn Matthews

Look, a moth flutters toward the moon, 

the misty clouds, the evening sky. The neighbourhood

is washed in hazy gold, tender and wistful—

Like the shade of late autumn light in your kitchen window

and your mother’s fingers, dipped in coconut oil 

or skinning an unripe mango, sprinkling 

the cut fruit with salt. And the gold-brown chapati dough 

your father flattens against the pan as dead leaves 

skitter across empty lamplit roads 

and gather by the broken fence in the yard.    

This autumn evening is only a graveyard 

for the wreckage of childhood; the surface 

of the day splinters, and the twilight beneath is soft

and fragile. The world, like a child holding her breath,

her nose pressed against cold kitchen windowpanes, 

watching each memory in the golden dusk tremble, flutter. 

Bury Me at the Crossroads
Dagale Mohammed

Bury me at the crossroads so that I remain when gone

Flesh renewed, familiar but estranged from who I am or was

Leave me at that juncture to taunt fate, while it gnarls my limbs

A brilliant convergence, a terrifying dawn!

Bury me at the crossroads, my death irresolute in its finality

But don’t fret for me, my three-headed mistress will keep me full

wanting, never satisfied so that I may drink with the monstrous,

and sleep with the foul, the damned dancing on my arms

Let me feast and be feasted upon,

When she has sucked and plucked all that is good in me, all that I have to offer

She’ll leave me to starve hands outstretched, empty

Her gales of laughter leave me shaking and bare, her airy whispers full of promise

I will die and she will return, molding me from my ashes, no memories of strife

So, bury me at the crossroads, for I have lived here all my life


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