Beyond Circles

Walk into the day

and hand over

familiar looks

to strangers

Sip loneliness

out of your head

at night

After all

this is the only menu

given by many moods

of the sun

so that the tired cat

waves at all parrots

and goes out of town

But tonight curtains are raised

The grey continent

of your shadow

climbs to the terrace

Second-hand paintings

from walls

pass comments

or suggestions

to start off a conversation

“I could have helped but

                                        my hands have this baby”

“Put your left foot on the pipe

                                                are you new?”

“I am going for my wedding

                                              would you like to join?”

After these diversions

you enter a room

where your mother

plucks a song

from the mountain

of tilting homes

for you and you

rest one eye

on her head

Taking Night and Day on Rent

Behind landlady’s eyes

a sceptic squirrel sits

with folded arms

If you scratch this face

the squirrel disappears

into the dark woods

Right now the silence

of our ears

is a cricket’s song

A plane crashes

in the ink sea

when I dip my tongue

to write

The squirrel sits

straight with a

jerk and strokes

his anxiety:

If I see

a map

upside down

we will all fall

But the clouds

have slippery eyes

beating hard

our swollen umbrellas

If we fall

into the sky

we could return

these eyeballs

The sceptic squirrel knits

trouble for solutions

Next morning I

see a hole in the wall

As tall as our building the landlady

tells from her stage:

My mongoose takes

an evening walk

from your house

to the neighbour’s

He did not

want to disturb

your door

Self Portrait of a Woman Resting on a Cliff

On waves of my
hair a house floats
where two foxes
visit at night
to drink rum
and feel safe

A slip a chance
could take them
upstairs to a thin
lad rolling
on the carpet,
wrestling with winter

Are you alright?
a fox asks
Boy: I swallowed fifty
         seeds for dinner
         A forest will grow
         from my mouth
         by morning and
         reach the girl from
         school to rain apples
         on her terrace
         Now I am only waiting

Outside an owl blinks
photographs through
the dark
He hands them to
a woman resting
on a cliff
She gives him
the warmth of
her hands