Bone Yards

by Gopikrishnan Kottoor (October 2015)

You must give birth to my love

After all this. Not a demand,

Just a feeling, that you must.

Your smells of flowers

Decaying in the bone yards

Of my name, your senses

Your breath turning to deer fright

Among the bloodied night hills.

Perhaps you must give birth to my hate

After all this. Closely parted

And sucked in, among the

Estuaries of night, turning

In full bloom in the mornings

That moves in my late sleep

Bleeding the colours of your dream.



_____________________________________, a poetry quarterly. His book of poems Father, Wake in Passing, translated into German, was read on invitation across universities in Europe.


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