Once More For Lucy And For All Radio Stations

By Subhankar Das



Not only licking lips you know Lucy we had
all these nerve disgorging dawns
lips in search of mystery lips
water in search of water your face and lots of clouds
It would be wrong to call it just water
There was ice made of smoke and row houses
how shadows arrive strolling and get prepared
on our electric-skin all our search all the water of dawn
Colour will cover all the burn blemishes of rain
even then we can talk of arson those life long anger
For the power of burning blood streams on guitar-chord
will have to be licked clean
Now the cloud-pulps have fled after lifting the curtains
Living is such a pleasure to live
that means those mile-long nerve-nets
have not learned to fly
are tied to the ears of a guitar
That tree emerges from the abdomen
roots and stems emerge
branches spread out of the mouth and peep
glory of the leaves starts falling from eyes
It would be wrong to call it just water
These are probably words not flesh-lumps
These are probably births
Which can never be aired to you from any radio station