Song of Broken Lever

raisins swimming     over my brocaded heart resting on a tartan

tablecloth for an evening show     were you in the crowd?     I had no idea

    my chambers asleep     like dark compartments of a midnight train

passing through crime-ridden hinterland     reptilian eyes lustrous    tad nervous

perched on the upper berth      unable to sleep like rosary beads

that melted     from the blinking punishment of ceaseless prayer

humming inside them     across the glass window winks of rare December

rain    falling on a house and a man    a woman and a child     a kid’s painting

         of a happy family      round heads of stick figures foreshadowing

the impending doom     in a horror movie I watched for a little distraction

          from the invisible terror of lampless streets     the platelets in my blood

were accustomed to disasters by now    but their warnings didn’t stop

me from riding a camel’s celebrated desert hump     that I was sure

stored water     instead turned out to be an igloo of sharp witted fat     I felt

          so cheated     my tummy furious     I ended up cursing the asphalt rump

of a speedbreaker     responsible for the skidding of my vulcanized

          rubbers    the soaring trajectory plateaued    my nose flattened    my entrance

to this school of long mileage was grotesque     the physics of a revolving door

spinning the purse of my upper lip into a kiss     of stirring proportions

of course I looked for you in this erogenous feast     despite salty winds

          a raptor clung on to the keratin of adamant nails     to continue this mad

chain reaction      no this isn’t sticky dream      this is how the unsung bliss

         of digestion brims      let me bring to your lips a spoonful of my skin

please resist don’t drink     hold the oil of wick right there     trembling flame

that snared desire     its overnight glow of faith     turning poison to medicine

and stone to vintage fulcrum     of my slinging elbow     a private sort of alchemy

that rendered the timelapse mode     of your camera useless

Satya Dash

Satya Dash is the recipient of the 2020 Srinivas Rayaprol Poetry Prize and a finalist for the 2020 Broken River Prize. His poems appear in The Boiler, ANMLY, Waxwing, Rhino Poetry, Cincinnati Review, and Diagram, among others. Apart from having a degree in electronics from BITS Pilani-Goa, he has been a cricket commentator. He has been nominated previously for Pushcart, Best of the Net and Best New Poets. He grew up in Cuttack and now lives in Bangalore, India. He tweets at: @satya043