Out of love
He found a drink of nectar juice
On the road on a horse back
Took two smoke from his drawer
And he saw vegetables in the garden.
Lost are the rivers
Without murmur in the silent night.
He knew not which hotel to go
Or how long to stretch his tired legs
Chewing the moon thinking!
Pastel driven sketches of sadness
Lost the way
As if sleeping with octupuses
Possessed and pale.
Show him to the station
In his mind
The seminal carcass of yesterdays
Which the vultures of his prison gorge.
The owls nod
Seeing peacocks in mud.
Copyright Roshan Tulachan 2007
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Reviews of "Fists"
Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader)
Reviewed on April 12, 2007
Interesting write
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Reviewed on April 10, 2007
I guess someone was drinking away their life, and paying the price...
First Edition Translation of Teselas by Carmen Crespo X111 César Simón Poetry Prixe 2016 Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospíde
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
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