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.
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www.undergroundflowers.com, 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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