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City of dust & other poems

Arun Budhathoki Friday, Mar 24, 2017 1349 reads

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City of dust 
 
This is the city of dust
When it rains
When it doesn’t rain
When the road is pitched
When the road isn’t pitched
 
I’ve become a raconteur
This city’s madness tires to winkle me
Out of the old man’s sanity,
What is left to discuss the anomalies?
 
This city has a foul tactile
A feeling you can’t get anywhere else
 
This city soon will parlay my inability
To distinguish between dust and fresh air.
 

 

If I spoke Spanish, I’d write the saddest lines tonight

 
 

If I spoke Spanish, I’d write the saddest lines tonight
Curse at the metaphysical bodies, and bloody stars
That look at me and throw a party for the universe

If I spoke Spanish, I’d write the saddest lines tonight
For tears in the heart have dried up
Like the power-cuts in Kathmandu

If I spoke Spanish, I’d write the saddest lines tonight
Have you seen the moon laugh at your heartbreak?
I wonder how long can the heart endure

If I spoke Spanish, I’d write the saddest lines tonight
And let the heart do tango
Entangled with cold, dark butterflies

If I spoke Spanish, I’d write the saddest lines tonight
Strum my pain with invisible fingers
For the soul speaks a foreign language that no can understand

If I spoke Spanish, I’d write the saddest lines tonight
And drown in the saddest songs of Mariachi
I broke the ukulele’s wretched strings

If I spoke Spanish, I’d write the saddest lines tonight
For the tongue no longer can speak language of love
I guess I dumped my heart deep into Phewa Lake.

 

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Ossington, Toronto

 

you’re between my thighs
poking
hidden
unfurled
tonight
Toronto will look
similar to Kathmandu
colors scents perfumes
different struggles
same people
same dreams
same hopes
same breath
twin souls
poking this soul
indefinitely
while someone
whispers from a pond
scores of houses cramped up
people camouflaged in Halloween costumes
walking around
Ossington
Queens
a map
inside
a tired pocket
a subway
entering
the darkening heart
drunk from the sake
of Korea Town
while Kensington Market
appears in my mind
like you do
a fragment of dreams
memories
I’ve to let go
like I let you go
leave the Christie St.
will you meet me at an unknown
station
tomorrow
this heart?

 
 

Arun Budhathoki is the Senior Correspondent with Anna Note. 

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