The Poetry of Wirndzerem G. Barfee

Heart-snatcher
(Or She Used to Be One I knew)

You burgled my chest
And stole my heart. Then left my rest.

It happened like a cyclone, fast and loud,
As you kicked up the dust-cloud
And left me blind
Without my mind.

You had possessed me only that long,
Then the saturnalian season stormed along
With its own rage and dream-chasers;
You jumped on the train for free,
Taking my stolen heart along with you
 And leaving me behind with an empty rib-cage.

Tell me, what town have you gone to?
Tell me, who did you sell my heart to?
What market, what price and what currency?
When are you coming back this way?

Since you’ve been gone, I’ve been living
Borrowed beats; tell me when you’ll be back,
Because I’ve got real need for those ventricles.

October 19, 2004

Concupiscence of Eclipses

There is a cosmic hunger in the sky
As bodies of discs rise fevered by
Seasons of interplanetary desire.

There is a pious astrologer,
The porn priestess who divines
Through her horoscopic prism:

The objects lie snuggled up close,
The rings and the coins and the cowries,
The bodies will lie intertwined tonight!

And it became gospel, what the priestess said,
For we witnessed rising bodies,
Then the steady copulation of cosmic discs
Till the spasmic embrace of night against light
Spelled orgasmic totality with sudden twilight,
When we witnessed full lid attained.

But superimposed planets beget hallowed instants,
As the corona casts a ring of celestial silver
On the heart of a trembling, feverish firmament…

The sky suddenly becomes a vast bed of possibilities…
And what if an alchemist, lured by the flaming aura,
Plants in the heart of that ring in the middle of this hymn?

October 20, 2005

Situations of Alchemy
(Or the Products of Love)

And time was watching us
As I curled, a whorl of accrued love,
A very cherished foetal clock
Ticking, kicking softly, cuddled – marsupial –
In the cage of your left rib bone un-envious of birth;
Only waiting to be borne, a cherished,
Fetished albatross around your tireless sac of love.

Because of the music of pillow-whispers
Murmured, sighed, those many nights
About gods’ passion for ribs in times of solitude;
You let my fertile saliva lick, many such times,
Around the bone-bars of this cosy refuge;
While you tenderly tickled the tendrils
Of our umbilical cord with your sun-song lullaby.

Because of more, you sang me rivers of love-songs,
As two sole obsessions, like sorcery, possessed you:
I and time intertwined in you, cosmic cradles,
Exquisitely crafted organic watches watching you-
And they have become one sumptuous glass iris,
Each, a delirious mirror on eyes of desire,
Their hands my fingers caressing mother-bones
Turning time in this prison of choice, of love,
Into wombs of poetic passions and painting wider
Our dot in the heart of this circle.

September 1, 2004

My love is a lunar illusion

A lackadaisical moon
Setting in my cup
Tells me the futilities
Of stuffing my pillows
With tantalizing dreams of you.

I empty that cup on a dawn lake
And snap the scattered refractions of the sun
Rising – a blurred iris floating westward,
An edgeless disc flattened from an addled heart,

Mine. When I fish memories from lakes of promises,
Fertile erstwhile; moonstone from moonscape now,
Only a flag grows- the one you stuck on your skull
For a carnival flower last summer and dervished.
So, why do you keep on planting rocks in my heart?

My emptied horn is silent with dregs of lunacy,
Portions of hysteria I’ll breakfast on by morning.
Tell mother her child’s doing just fine; please don’t tell her the truth:
He’s tormented by an interplanetary babe who’s mad for potencies.

You’ve forged me underwear of lead, the eunuch’s.
I can’t act, can’t react, can only undergo, go under,
See my bed collapse; see my powder dowsed down,
See my thin breast shriveled, cuckold cold, orgy after orgy:

A conspiring moon – a well-fed child
Sleeps in my bowl, an usurped cot –
Reveals the tallest emptiness of filling my mortar
With lunar bubbles of you for tubercles.

July 10, 2006

Comments

["The Tagem"]

its not really a comment. i will like to publish my poems here.what am i suppose to know?