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Knowledge of Shadows by ANJANA BASU



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ANJANA BASU
Knowledge of Shadows			
A neat child's hand writes love letters Things I cannot presume to understand On the green hills the gods trumpet their own praises through daffodils. In the sunlit garden, my stupid heart filled with fear asks God for pardon.

Copyright 2006, ANJANA BASU, all rights retained

poet: ANJANA BASU poet: LYN LIFSHIN poet: ANJANA BASU PoetryRepairShop navigation
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The Other Night I Had This Absurd Dream by LYN LIFSHIN



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LYN LIFSHIN
The Other Night I Had This Absurd Dream			
terrorism was going on but it was in only parts of the city. Some were gunned down but others seemed to make it to somewhere else. I was in spike heels, a filmy dress, chartreuse I think, the color Nicole Kidman wore several years ago to the Oscars. Suddenly a dark man puts his arm around me like a shawl and says its the blacks and Jews they are after. Ambulances across the pond and the rain seemed like bullets. I wait for guns from the street, something terrifying as what catapulted Jessica from her seat in the Campus Theater when The Thing played. It comes thru the blinds, pulls me from quilts even the cat is hiding under. I can feel what is just waiting for me slither toward the bed, even the cat smells it, leaps from her warm cove. It's too late to fall back to sleep. This terror will wrap itself around me, weave itself in to my hair so when I go to ballet it it will keep me will keep me leaping and turning. I will be as not there as an old lover's voice on his answering machine I called months ago to just listen to or feel safe I could not still want him, safer than those hours in the dark with the geese and traffic not enough to make things seem they were as they had been

Copyright 2006, LYN LIFSHIN, all rights retained

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In His Hand by ANJANA BASU



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ANJANA BASU
In His Hand			
My father and my lover sound the same enjoy messages sent across blue distance I miss the long man I talk childish rubbish about him and I wriggle in my narrow bed. During the day in the long grass I blow a dandelion clock white wishes in the sky to go back go back The sun slants me through a Constable lowering blue over the hayfields and the canvas walls close in Blue cold windy, I walk along the deserted railway line the ghost of stations stone platforms alongside old straight track soak up the sun The Indian in me objects Swathed in two towels I roll by the sundial in the grass Blue Bedouin firen dressed the sun warms my head sheathed by Turkish cottons The sundial counts the happy hours by no calendar I know The sun falls casually and the shadow passes slow as the shadow of a hawk's wings drifts at my feet My suitcase is full of summer hours blue bells and green leaves the cawing of rooks and the slow evening creak of the castle door Trapped in a jewel box blue enamel arch sky green velvet grass The air is thin I buss like a bluebottle drone like a bee seeking escape From a surfeit of ease.

Copyright 2006, ANJANA BASU, all rights retained

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