Issue 10

Spring 2002

Prasenjit Maiti

 

How I look at myself

is an odd thing to ask before the
pen and the paper, and an hour
that is not ideal for confessions

It is morning, after all

Are you not reminded of the promises
round the corner that such mornings
used to brag about?

I am, and I have not yet recovered

from the treachery of nothingness

Neckties

We were once walking into an evening
when we fell over one another
hurrying to loosen our lovers’ knots
and the evening all the while
was closing in like the evening
but we were close no more
as there happened clashes of doors
closing doors closing and hearts
folding up like doors closing
and finally we were withdrawn
as if we were taking our hands off
one another, off your cheeks

and closing our eyes to rest awhile
painting our everyday lives

in black and white
but you smirked and I shuddered
and the rubber in my hands went cold
like my cold hands
the rubber between our legs
was damp and limp when you laughed
and I could take you no more
and so let everything loose
among the floods that leave behind
the nothingness knots that tie no more

Feelings

We sit around your séance tonight
as all our rotten old loves flock around

like ghosts in their eerie lovemaking
we don’t learn, we don’t laugh
we’re wallpapers hanging tattered
and loose - as we must

- we don’t mourn, we don’t bluff
but Hello! Wait a second or two
my first first love: who are you?

Asking me to glee

as the traffic changed from red

to blue like your lips from red to blue

so untrue my first

first love: who are you?

 

© Prasenjit Maiti

 

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