a changing of the gods

While the croaked lullabies
of snow-shrouded ravens
caress imminent dreams,
sensations of another life creep
under the night
into my sleepless mind:
a whiff of sandalwood, the soft whispers
of wood chafing against wood,
singing bells, the vibrant colours
of old sarees.

The cold mosaic of black and green
seem a distant memory, clouded
by years in between of losing
faith in bedtime stories to knowledge
grasped greedily: the smells and sounds persist,
slowly the colours fade.

Mornings of vermilion now remembered
under skies wearing grey, the ravens presenting
the lone dash of life amid
cloudy airs and my ears ring
with her rusted tales.

telling time

in a room with darkened
lights smoky breaths
we get intoxicated
on each others' bodies
ever so slowly
the ruminations are worn
a second while we undress
ourselves
ever so slowly
ever so slowly our steps
patter down crunchy
sidewalks
ever so slowly
we walk into the past
clasping fingertips by the fireplace
ever so slowly
lighting our deaths
under skies populated
by unfeathered ravens
in search of warmth
for it is spoken
ever so slowly
and breathe
ever so slowly
by the warmth of youth
ever so lightly
fingertips touch
the memories of the futures beheld
ever so slowly
the ice melts
we hack at it looking
for undiscovered words
discovered once upon a time
by nervous fingers touching
another's
ever so slowly steps
are retraced
to homes discovered re discovered
found and abandoned
ever so slowly
the creeping bones
rattle into our imagination
the collective thought
we created and you start thinking of me
ever so slowly
I run ash over
my arms
ever so
slowly
you take your words
towards unspeakable realms
and walk away
ever so slowly
hoping to find depths unplumbed
before by these words
that came by
oh too quickly.

in other words

whimpers from the room below
swiftly make their way into my bedroom,
their heated emotions smothering my
usual ennui. the raised voices and
simple accusations: our childhood
inquisitions. in this moment
of uneasy existence i realise
the worth of those hurtful words,
now that i talk through
wires and satellites,
now that i walk beyond
the lies we spoke to each other
because the neighbours told us to do
so; nothing more painful than
the absence of puerile conversation.
what more is there that we can do
to separate ourselves from each other,
tell me.