6. (Summat of a Ghazal:
There is no weakness like music means the golden lyre
or the Green Helmet, in its sureness, forged on what longing?
They get me, they remind and cajole my short life away.
–
That I can’t hear you in every harp– I can! and the wind!
And the green helmet from the sea glowing in my lodgings.
Is that rhyme, to urge for you from in here, where we all are?
Where the color of poppies stains indiscriminately.
And the waves send and receive green mail from green green green.
What form could Tom send, you who swiftly takes the forms away?
7.
They say the talk of the people is the will of the gods.
Say the will of lust of sun the pebble in your sandal.
Skin a message quicker than thought skin a verb you delay.
Brands taken from the sun, mimic fire in delay of space.
I don’t like what I’m saying but allow it must be true.
Loud and clear and wrong as can be holler in the boule.
Her will is day to settle scores fall down stairs, leave night be.
Till the soil turn over words steal shoes know they are all hers.
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