Opposite of emptiness

“Blessed are the hours of emptiness. My life vacillates between the two, the emptiness and… and… whatever is the opposite of it”

Diary of a displaced Person by Jonas Mekas
The Paris Review

We want to keep ourselves
In all their memories intact.

We will want to remain kept
But no body wants to keep.

Their shelves are filled with
The opposites of emptiness.


Another leaf is a  brokenness of my self.
I am leaf to be removed from its winter.

Like a  man severed from his leafy past
Now earth and water in the sea of a sky,

Fragment of event that is not whole life
A broken life, from a winter of the past.

Reading is fragmentary , wholly digital.
My grasp of a wholeness of a wired life

Is leaves in someone’s digital existence
Verse is leaves fallen of a winter of age.

Verse is heap of images , a broken light’s
Many-hued splinters in a kaleidoscope.

Sky is keepsake of light

Not every man will remember
A rain on night with dog howl

But the sky is keepsake of light.
Cirrus and cumulus float a sky

While sunset torches one day
And moon lets down its trees.

But not every man remembers
A dog howl at mom’s vacating

As memory turns to a pale sky.
Dog howls at a midnight’s sky.

Rain falls on night for nothing
After men vacate their spaces.

( reading Mark Strand’s poem The End)

The ruins of Golconda fort

The shepherd’s mountain hosted ghosts
Over matchstick’s sounds across bushes.
Today it is back again, dreaming out of.

We may exorcise female ghosts from it.
They are a flesh turned stone with men.
Their sleeping tombs are cold with past.

Bodies were covered in a male darkness
And their stomachs homes to male egos.
Now they are in the same stone as men.