By SANJEEV SETHI

(1)

Don’t define me by one itch, there

are other appearances. It can be

contained, made to subside with

a willing source. Don’t let this spill

on other manifestos.

(2)

Worsted and word-smitten we’re

poets, if we don’t seek nuance

while negotiating the nitty-gritties

of existence, poetry and its practice

means little.

(3)

 

Listening to the raindrops lisp of

her longings, I ask her not to weep.

“ That’s me,” she pleads.

I place my palm outside the window:

my way of upraising.

 

(4)

 

Your blandishments worked or did

they? I, shrewd and sophic equipped

to identify the knavish, gave into your

glossology. This is it about words,

we allow some of them to soak us.

(5)

 

It seems I’ve been sowing arid

soil: fallow ideas firm up on

their own. In creative enterprise,

rigor behind the rendition is

unseen.