© 2009 Ronni Shendar mangalore_sound9

It’s beautiful here. It’s fabulous.


Green floods like marching soldiers in an army of lush
devouring my sight
infecting and growing
spreading like a wild disease

Flowers peek from every corner as large as my face
as bright as the blue sky
as full and supple as the yielding touch of soft kissing lips
so divine

I miss a heartbeat at the crack of breaking waves
their criss-crossing patterns of secretive rhythms
rushing forward, growing and surging
until they collide

If I close my eyes I can hear the sun’s heat breaking through the clouds
The softness of the blowing palm trees
washing in a silky blurred brush

My hair conceals humidity
Boys on motorcycles show off
a group of school-girls skip by
a taxi spilling a family piled inside

I watch them hurdling down the road
thick braids bop up and down
a train wails its horn
a trembling generator in the distance
a TV turned on loud
a lone construction worker hammering a single rod of metal
for hours at a time

Flaming red yielding soil beneath
instilled with unrestrained fertility
so bright it dyes my soles

and amidst these surrounding wonders
I quietly poise
trying not to fracture a bed of sinking sand
to preserve patterns
matching my breath to the waves

But even the spelndor cannot conceal
my strangeness in this land
my impermeable foreign pores
too large to seep
too saturated to contain
absorbing the mass of faces
consuming the imperfections
swallowing deficiencies
soaking in fragilities
of the conventional
or unjust
until I submerge
swaying gracelessly in the deluge
deafened and helpless
It all pours out