The poem told me, you are a militant, Love,
You are, I said, a filigree of militant words exploring sabotage, processes of hurt, a collection of catastrophes, aches, my body boxed in cardboard, I have adjusted my spine to the fatal forensics of your ink and you call me a militant, Love ! The poem told me, you are a militant, Love, You are, I said, my partner in crime, my lateral imprint, a probative, reconstructing evidence from my mind, an accelerant defining my combat rhyme I have become a bone rustler of your chrystilized criminogenic link and you call me a militant, Love ! The poem told me, you are a militant, Love, You are, I said, a fickle informant, You undress me at the stoplights You make a delicate mess of my skin You make my body a garden of torment I have adjusted the moon of my body To the solstice of your lust and you call me, a militant, Love ! The poem laughed, shook its ink-stained glove, and said, perhaps, you are, sort of, Militantly in love. © Jaspreet Mann
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Darling this is not a poem,
this is the drunk anatomy of words, inebriated music, tarantella of fingertips, making art on skin attempting to hold the desert moon crumbled and crushed in their invisible grip. Darling this is not a poem, this is the song buried beneath the templeflesh of love, a chime of silver bangles, mysterious, inviting, in sync with the heartbeats of a thousand sonnets stained with your lips and mine and all their linear angles. Darling this is not a poem, this is the nape of your blue shirt, the sound of your Berfrois drums, the tapping of your boot spurs, against my left side of the bed, the darkness of the night wondering where the next poem will come from, while we make love in verse. © Jaspreet Mann Are we a global community? Do we have global consciousness? I really wonder, especially when I see that when people go on a killing spree the deep rooted reasons linger in the fact that all countries aspire for supremacy. Some struggle to survive and others refuse to abandon their identity, ethnicity and political belief. Maybe the notion of a world community is not only obscure, but remains just a distant dream.
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