From the desert sands we came
Olive and flush
In our beauty—
Strong jawed, sharp eyed,
Hawk nosed riders of the storm.
From far flung corners we came,
Different colors, brushed
With our beauty—
And lost it all to the
White colorless norm.
Merged into this vision
Of one color of no color.
Drained of our identity—
Blank faced, dull eyed,
We learnt to conform.
A Table, Two Poems
What we have is
A table.
Two poems.
And a conversation
That neither of us began.
But as we speak the lines
We say everything in between.
We spill
Over the distance of the table
That separates us.
We move our legs back
Under and behind our chairs
Scared of touching
That which lies
beneath the lines.
Knowing that we will overflow
Over and above
The table
Knocking it over
Sometime
Anytime
Even as our bodies strain
To keep back
All that drives us forward.
Two poems
And a conversation.
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