a poem a day by A.J.Rao

Climate change

It is sunlight that blazed after
The sea with monster clouds

With possible wedding of rain
With sun in crossbow of color

As if an interspecies marriage
To perform of dogs and vixen.

Kid guests aided and abetted
A beating of rain on asbestos.

The kids would promise rains,
Eggs of early rise crowing hen

And if rains wouldn’t like them
They give duck eggs in a pond.

When it would rain on the pond
Fish drowned in fears of death-

How difficult it was to be a fish
Between sharp arrows of rains.

Crows would wait in bare skins
For the rain to stop to be ready

For the meeting in the almond
To talk climate change effects.

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a poem a day by A.J.Rao

There is God

On the hills is our golden God
Bringing rains on our window
Dusting away coals from port,

He who makes the red sander
Worth the fire in far east loins,
That thieves fell trees for fires.

The fires are in thieves bellies.
Trees will fall to the belly fires
And a forest guard is also God.

There is fragrance of Champa
In hill ,our love of God in hills
Inside  morning’s coffee cries.

Now the rain beats a window
Until coal dust is rained away
And men tremble in the glass.

There must be God in the rain
In the red sander fire in bellies
And men trembling in glasses.

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a poem a day by A.J.Rao

Residue

A beating of a poem for meaning
Will leave some residue of sound

Around lips in the milky whisker,
A torture for intimate confession.

We look it against a colored light
Or grope for light switch in room

Trying to find our own confession
Reclining in the dark room’s sofa.

We turn readers of others’ poems
To discover our own confessions

Tortured out of us , for meanings
Exceeding aggregated intentions.

But with meaning of rain on glass
Dust will clear for men to tremble

And a sea in the sky will fall silent.
We are less occupied with residue.

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a poem a day by A.J.Rao

No single way

At dawn  we’ll go separate ways.
Now the rain is still light drizzle,

A patter on a passing car’s roof,
At first caw of the new morning.

The sea sits darkly on the cloud.
There could be  rain on walkers.

They go separate ways to death.
We find our own ways in poem.

We will go in our separate ways.
We sit opposite  death’s making

To plan our separate ways to it.
As we talk of weather and crop

We find our own separate way.
In a dark, there is no single way.

(after the poem “Separate Way” by Charles Reznikoff)

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a poem a day by A.J.Rao

Unreal estate

My flat hung in the third floor,
As you climb high in older sky.

On its roof is our old sun light
By the water tank that leaked.

As it rains from the water tank
Drainpipes make funny noises.

Balcony is space for bird nests
But birds pay no rent to owner.

With no rent, it is a vacant air
With dust from our old words.

Old words may still be a cloud
But nobody can sell old words.

A buyer asks what is our share
In the undivided unreal estate.

We say as much as birds allow,
From a hole of kitchen exhaust.

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a poem a day by A.J.Rao

Park Gate No 1

My mornings broke at Gate 1
As teas slurped a day’s news,

And beggar woman squatted
With a friend dog by her side.

Dog and she breath together.
The bellies heaved in a choir.

Flies heaved their solidarity,
Fly feet tapped to the heaves.

Now I pass through a Gate 2
Not daring to pass gate No 1.

Gate 2 admits me to freedom
To idle away from possibility

Of Gate 1 bellies not heaving,
Woman’s belly no more seen

Of a heaving choir now over
And everyone left for homes.

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a poem a day by A.J.Rao

Free fall

Icarus thought he was a boy
In ground floor trying wings
And he dreamed of melting
By a hot sun he saw in night.

You may question a melting
In a dream that would melt
And sun melted into the sea
But farmer furloughed land.

You may question the logic,
Of wings melted by cold sun
Just because dream spun so
And dreams are not perfect.

Boy seems slightly confused.
He was not Icarus in free fall
He only daydreamed he was.
Icky stopped falling long ago.

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a poem a day by A.J.Rao

Bridge

Bridge is what we recall of wind
When it touched a child’s cheek
Puffed up by the origins of wind

A feral confusion between angst
And water flow under the bridge,
A green puddle inside a summer.

Child wondered of buffalo rocks
That sat scattered on a river bed,
Chewing cud of a rain’s memory.

Cheek takes flimsy rope bridge
Between a wind and starry vault,
A black sky hung light on night.

New bridge between us and sky,
Now we reach stars fast enough
Shedding bodies under a bridge

Where the wind whooshes eerily
On charcoal heaps of dead bone
And temple bell rings sky empty.

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a poem a day by A.J.Rao

Sea language

The sea speaks a language
As the measure of our lives.

Sea’s turtles speak in eggs,
Of a future’s turtle deaths.

Crows are such noisy birds,
In a speech of turtle deaths.

We live about all that dies.
Turtle eggs are a language.

Language of crow is noisy,
Turtle deaths its language.

A sea dreams up language.
It’s waves collapse as word.

Sea silence is about deaths,
A turtle egg is its language.

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