Tainted Skin

[atiguhya padma]

In summer’s heat
I head for canopies
Large covered structures,
Like pregnant bellies,
For protection.

My camouflage
Conspicuous in sunlight,
A continent of boundaries,
Red seas and arid landscapes,
Cannot bear too much
Interrogation.

Give me the rocky corners
The shadows of the world,
The ruined works of time,
Where safety blankets me.
Not for me the meadow flowers,
The hilltops high point,
They must wait for Spring.

This crazy anarchic tattoo,
Grows upon my hands,
My legs, my face,
With an undiscovered blueprint.

The cool woodland
Clothed loosely with pine needles,
Becomes my haven.

I am the dappled lane
That runs windingly
Beneath the three o’clock sun
And the community of trees.

I am the path
Beneath the London Planes
That guard me through the park.

Give me darkness or twilight,
The dusk is my balm,
The soothing oil
For tainted skin.

[Avalive]

I feel for this poem. This brings me away to where I wanna be for awhile. Words do have this power to move you both mentally and physically (literally).

Good write. I dearly like it.

[atiguhya padma]

Again, thanks, Avalive.

Yes, I think words bridge our worlds. Language can have a life of its own for both reader and writer.

I wish I was better at translating my world into yours. In a sense, this is maybe the objective of all writers.

Anyway, thanks.

AP