Poems

There are two types of forever: One coils itself in tighter and tighter cycles and rolls and rolls, on and

Kofi Awanoor: Oh, To die having coffee with a dear son. And together see the setting of the sun. Ah,

All women: wonderful to behold; to hold and to be held by; a blessing to the earth and heaven; the

Life is a consciousness that coheres tenuously a logical consistency that totters on stilts a candle that runs on illusion

Life is a paradox: Reproduction is superior to production Recurrence is better than occurrence Imperfect mother of perfect and failure

Certainty and uncertainty Twin burdens of humanity Today, tomorrow and eternity. A dance of finity and infinity.

Deafening drumbeats frenzied heartbeats a volley of arrows rapturous roars magic and miracle embrace and toast an oracle.   This

‘Darling, I am sorry I did not come home last night.’ Thus spoke Quilt, adding softly: it is not what

I eat strange dinners – if I can call them that. One moment it is chapati – dry and hard,

“I was assailed by pangs of sweet pain in my loins Sharp spasms that mock all my yearnings and toils