GeraneumsWhen I am near the geraniums,
that blossom by the stream where
it narrows sharply,
I remember the girl with black hair and brown eyes.
She would come to me
with handfuls of popcorn.
When I chewed it, she listened
to the sound of chewing,
as if it was a melody for her.
When I went quiet,
she stepped into my thought.
She revealed what I was reflecting on.
When I spoke, she said
I was still quiet because my mind
was straying away into thoughts.
I knew I was found out,
my ears would be red.
She giggled in mirth, her body
swayed from side to side
like the geraniums in the wind.
Her breasts close to my shoulders,
she would kiss my ears,
her mahogany lips riding on them,
her breath swishing about my face.
After she was gone, I would go
close to the geraniums.
The wind tickled them,
they twist their bodies with a giggle.
Their leaves touched me
like the fingers of the girl with dark hair
and brown eyes.
Poetry by Mukul Dahal
Read 700 times
Written on 2009-03-15 at 19:10
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