Submissions by orangesun

I was going out to meet rain
Meet it, while it fell or while it hung on to the sky
Preparing to drop off, but clinging still

I was going out to meet it
It was waiting for me, around the corner of the desert.

If I happen upon perfect people
It is most probable that I shall not like them
How terribly painful to head out for a silly old evening walk
And chance upon perfect people
No! it is rain I will meet
It is rain that I will meet
and rain that is waiting for me

it is terrible how  unhappy one can be
How one carved face,...

Her face, bobbing up and down in a crowd,
Sometimes suspended
amidst
a lilting sprinkling of other faces,
Is now a little plump.
Her soul too, has put on
extra flesh
through being thoroughly ravished
And standing fully ripe and satisfied
but like a court jester with
mirth leaking out of the eyes
and dripping through the mouth
Painted and ruthless mirth
She might swell up and up and up, paint and mirth and leakage and all.
And all the while
the picture
of her soul that has put on extra flesh and shimmers with...

Perfect happiness is
nothing.
But here, there
is something everyday.
Sometimes
we pick up
faces to think
about for
the
rest of the day.
That is
lovely.

I notice
That people on stretchers
Are
In the hall ways
But I walk
Past them now
And do not look twice
Am I being
Polite or is it just
That I do not see

I saw an old man
Sleeping on
One such stretcher
In the hallway
It was the sort of sleep that wants
To last
Forever.
Inside
There is no magic in the...

He is small with a small face and hair that falls over his brow
And he is short but extraordinarily mobile like small things are apt to be
He talk is like people smoking cigars,
His talk is like vintage cars gleaming and wonderful
And all that perfect, fine vintage talk coming out of a small man with hair that falls on his brow
And which he might toss back in a movement almost feminine, but not quite
And he walks with that cat lady, white, fair, buxom with huge blue eyes that have that quaint, faraway look of people who are pretending to listen to your chatter while...

The man with crying eyes
I was in a rickshaw with friends when I saw a man with crying eyes
Slowly floating bye.
On his strange motorbike.
And he floated by and he floated by and he floated by
And his crying, drooping eyes followed me.
The wet, crying eyes followed me
As he floated by and he floated by and he floated by
In an arc around my eyes
And then vanished around the corner of the arc.
Our tiny rickshaw rattled on.
Quick, miraculous creature:the rickshaw.
My hair flew and rippled like a demon’s tentacles
We crossed touchme chorangi...