June

You breathe, I listen
we wait for the rain
the clouds, cruel as ever
go their own way
and broken wings of dead butterflies
swirl in the hot wind
like rainbows split in between
a mad cat runs in circles
biting its own tail
kicking dust, chasing flies
sniffing the blazing air
it's ten in the morning
no one walks the street
the shades are drawn
the stores are closed
the leaves burnt to crisp
our shadows weep
big angry tear drops
fall on the cracked ground
and challenge the cruel summer

Mother

One day I will count your silver hairs
and we will sit beside the big window
breeze touching your crumpling skin
and we will welcome the silence

That day your pain won't be there
the food will forever be hot
your saree will be starched to crisp
and your couch soft and warm

You will sing in your clear voice
and read out stories for me
your voice laced with happiness
and dreams, hopes and memories

Your hands will smell of fresh spices
sunshine will light up your eyes
and I will sleep in your arm
dreaming of galloping horsemen

Nothing will fade out again
the pictures will hang in a line
your comb will be clean and
your glasses wiped with a soft cloth

One day I will collect your love
from every corner of this house
and make scars with their sharp edges
in the empty hollows of my heart

Heavy Rain

Finally it rained in the morning
a sudden eruption at exactly five o' clock,
washing the window panes, the balcony,
the empty bird cage and the guava tree

the milkman was late, wet crows
huddled under the car shed,
one wet tee clung to the clothesline
waiting for deliverence

clocks lazed to the next minute,
the rainpipe gurgled with happiness,
the bedcover wet with rain
bleeded its colours on to the white

sleep came in bursts
warm, hugging, hypnotic drowsiness,
the heavy eyelids stitched together
watching dreams of floating clouds

fingers made circles in the hair
lovers naked and peaceful
blew out perfect smoke rings
and watched the rain outside

Some Afternoons

There's chilli garlic butter
crumbling toast and iced tea,
last night's hangover
feels as loud as Pete Townsend
and the bathtub smokes
with warm water and spicy smells

Cheese omlettes cut real slow
the white ooze creams out
Sputnik Sweetheart, Kafka on the Shore,
Bukowski, Jean-Dominique Bauby
all sleep with their pages ripe
waiting to be devoured slowly

The air-conditioning is perfect
humming away its rigid cold,
grey pictures hang on the wall
great grandfather with black moustache
looking at a bubbling lava lamp
throwing an eerie orange glow

Dinky cars, autobots and shot glasses
stand in a line against the wall
jostling for space with a cube clock,
a bottled sea horse and kaleidoscopes,
receivers blink away wild and endlessly,
someone makes love on the mute lcd

On the couch a cushion lies crumpled
no sound, no wind, not even a whisper
the mauve on the wall melts slowly
tick sounds louder than the tock,
sunshine tumbles in through a crack in the curtain
madness marches on like a wild horse

Sunset Bleed

We drowned in the sea
you and me,
bloated and soft,
with sand between our webbed feet,
we walked and crawled
and smiled and died

Smoke rose from the hot pools,
crabs dived in a frenzy,
dead turtles swam ashore,
the sunset bled orange
and our fingers wrinkled
to a bleached white

The tide came in
and when the water rushed back
the beach was bare
except you and me
and empty sea shells and dead fish
and our naked souls
scaterred here and there

Eating up the Summer

I got myself coke in a glass
dunked some ice cubes
watched them sigh and sink
rubbed the sweat off my neck
and then dragged the armchair
into the backyard

It was hot
the thermometer had sluggishly
climbed to 39 degrees even before noon
and long blades of grass
stood perfectly still
praying for a breeze

With each sip the sweat came
gushing out relentlessly
trickling down the nose, thighs, elbow
and the back of the neck,
even rubbling the cold glass on my cheeks
didn't bring a sigh

Somewhere a radio blasted
croaking out missing signals
and a clear voiced song,
water trickled from a cracked pipe,
the clothesline sagged and fat flies
lay dead, belly up and legs spread

Summer tasted nice
the backyard was a toast,
the last drop of coke was dead
and the ice cubes shrunk to salt
there were no birds, no insects or flowers
every second was so bright and dying

The Moon’s Gone

Smoke rings thick and grey,

sagging chin and rough elbows

resting on red plastic tables,

smelly armpits, watery eyes,

cheap whiskey and swear words

‘what the fuck is wrong with you,

be a man you mother fucker’,

right now we will chase the night,

bring it to the knees and rape it,

dance in the forest,

take our shirts off , piss on the grass,

smear our faces with the dust

and scream till our brains explode

bring on the dirty jokes…

‘one day a parrot goes to a strip joint’,

Now did you laugh or throw up,

Ok what’s next…

‘hey can someone sing a bloody song,

any song, anything’

let's shiver now

and hug limp bodies,

let's try to stop the nagging cold

and the blackness of sleep,

but don't lie down as yet

it’s not yet morning

and the damp forest floor awaits

with her mouth wide open

What's the Point

What’s the point,

hot days of shouting,

and drinking and shouting

ranting around, foaming in the mouth

chipping my teeth

trying to open another bottle of beer

and then calling you a nasty whore

‘whore, whore, whore,’

cheap whore,

the only thing that’s left of you

is your furry, pink slippers under the bed,

a loose panty in a drawer and your smell

mixed with sweat on the bedsheet ,

and there’s the cat

she was yours, now she is mine

whimpering at my feet

asking for food and mercy and warmth,

she can have them all, even sleep on my bed

and sit on the kitchen slab

staring at me

‘What’s the point ?’ I tell her,

blame it on the days, the uselessness,

the sex, the washing machine,

dope, cheese spread, toothpicks

blame It on anything you want to

for all you know

I never ever cared anyway