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[denizaksulu]

My splintered consciousness is
A medley of broken images
Shards of shattered tough-glass
Pierce through forced attempts at order
Dark and threatening circles
Close in on my eyes, concentrically.

My muscular male arms
Negate my underlying femininity
Sometimes I am male, sometimes female
Sometimes I am me, sometimes somebody else.

In my unified moments
I attempt in vain
To gather pieces of broken glass
For a multi-hued kaleidoscope
The kaleidoscope remains a dream
I only collect bleeding injuries.

My soul lies inert, in a glass jar
In the amniotic fluid of primordial confusion
As research material for neuro-scientists
Cushioned in chaos, there I lay
Afraid that the jar would break one day.


by RJ Rao


In my quite garden,
There is nearly peace again.
Breaking out.
All the things I cannot change.
All the sadness of this living page.
In my quite garden.
The solace of the new morn.
In my quite garden,
I can rebuild and be renewed.
The old pains are more distant and
Less framed and chained
In my quite garden,
There is fresh bud, new song.
Late blossom, unseen seeds.
There is nearly peace again.
New worlds, new life
Breaking clear.
Of all events
I cannot erase.
All the sadness of this living age.
Of my quite garden.
A world away
From you and I,
Me and everyone else.


br Peter V