two poems || asijit datta

Imagining Imagination
Imagining
Dead imaginations
Images one flat second gone
Orange flash from flare guns
Miles of blue barren grassless
Under a spewing sun
All land clouded
Feet hidden fingers clenched
Dysmetria perhaps
A wheeling sensation
And occasional sounds of
Trains and thunder
Not fiction
True perhaps
Far farther than distance
No stories no
All fiction dead
All fictives are ghosts now
Populating pollinating
Other ghosts of another life it seems
Of imagination living
When tree contours throbbed in winds
And pulsating hearts had songs
I imagined and a carnival of hands
Held me
My body weightless
Blank space degree zero
Truth
For hours I could be formless
There were days no one could see me
If I desired no one could find me
I was haze snowflake (round ones)
Bird without wings
Blast quiet light
Lingersome beyond extinction
Stone ancient and ageless
They fixed dynamites
Inside my natural karsts
Imagine what it was
To imagine 
All that I was
All time past
Is fiction now
Dead stories of
Dead imaginings
Think of what you were
Imagine what?!

Spectres of Love
We are the orange light gushing over the evening placid terrain,
We are the kind animal carcass left for the dying vultures, 
We are transmuting into nature, waves on waves, waves on sands, sands on sands, 
We are the winds shlepping the dread of leaves to the winter snow, 
Bearing the wails of dogs to midnight ears, 
We are His sleep-inducing painting, 
Some soporific drug of a shaman, 
And blue egg of mountain serpents, 
We are larvae, white arboreal blood and warm trail of soles, 
We are nowhere, 
Neutral space, penumbra, 
We, spectre-thin invisible, 
Our weight, disquiet of dust.
Yet we return like lores forgotten 
Our tales retold 
We wake to old horrors and tenderness
Our ghosts love again, die again.
We are siblings lost in the forest, far from the voice of our father, far from age and
shame.
All things enter through our pores, 
We are everything we see, 
Everything that sees us becomes us, 
We dissolve into a buoyant specular object, 
The universe is lighthearted inside our marble speck.