Monday, October 27, 2014


I hear you call it again.

I have lent it to some before,
Kept it from some,
And though rarely,
Even changed it for some.

I had put it letter by letter in boxes,
And made totems out of it.
But after the excursions
It always came back like
A sullen and silent child.

A history more proper than its bearers’,
An essence deeper than a lifetime of wear:
A name always keeps to itself half its secret.

Time in spate froths off its silt on a name –
A fine silt that glistens in the sun,
Throbs in the rain, and hardens in winter.

You weeded it
And sowed a dandelion;
See, it has sprung again – 
Each silvery down in its fluff
Alert, glowing, as you call it.

I hear you.


Zeinab said...

This is easily the pick of the lot (five poems which load when I clicked your blog link).

You've come a long way.

And I note, with some regret, that you're on to different things now, probably, social media and the like, so you're not likely to watch or update this blog.

This one poem stands out...the others have specific merits, but this one is rounded and is not marred by the wordiness which you could so easily avoid.

One perfect poem

Zeinab said...

And so, On October 2014, a baby was born?