Think,
of dew frosted leaves
fallen, to mulch rot, waiting
of stimulant decomposing
and tender sprout climbing
of stabbed, wounded tree
white rubber resin tears, crying
of cigar weeping
smoke, tendrils upwards floating
of the pooled breath,
the shared lung then existing
of heart’s sanguine love holds
in the brain and desires, creases
of brevity of time, breath and passion,
lost, expressed in blinking blind gazes
of anguish in tearing memories
that float down, scattered, with photo pieces
of the woman exploring herself
seeking light in the dark places
Think of all these,
Think,
of some thought
that comes in search of me.
Then, of me Think
O Sudhir Janardhanan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/think-39/
