Years like embers!

With slow and silent burning
slithering on the calypso ghost of memories
Like a cigarette, I shower sparks of illusion
leaving behind the trails
and symbols of ephemereal truth
in abundance

Incsence wafting like cuckoo's calling
smoke arising and wrapping itself
around the moment now and the path trod Years behind me
Years ahead of me
in victories, in defeats
I'm still burning the flame of my firefly words
Keeping alive the tradition of a gypsy wandering
Gathering beads and golden leaves to garland my solitude
The wooden tray of this moment burns like cigarette

The years
like embers
glow translucent
in a crystal ball
of yearning!

NO METAPHOR FOR A POEM

NO METAPHOR FOR A POEM
Seema Gill

A trip on the Hammersmith line is no metaphor for a poem
A city pigeon accidentally climbs from the platform at Paddington Street
to find himself bewildered by the artist in blue streak
The pigeon with his bird mind has no language for a train station

A girl with elephant ear rings cuddles up on the seat opposite
Her heavy whiskey lips sings memories and Jamaica in her eyes twink
Like the cherry blossom tree loaded with psychedelic pink
The girl with ear rings is no headline for the hollywood movie shrink

As I pick up my green bag with images, metaphors fall lightly
on the ground beneath me and I walk in the crowd brightly
The dark tunnel opens up in mind with unstructured poem sup
I walk as if I’m in heaven, watching a psychedelic storm in a cup