Poetry | Sartaj Ghuman

pc: Brian Michael Barbeito

Four poems from the lit. fest/ faint echoes of the word escape

1.

strangers in a strange city listening to strangers read their poetry

we vow to be amongst them next year to be up there next year to be

not so lonely next year. me in my pockmarked sweater and you in your overcoat

and high heels we exchange glances from across the crowd and then quickly retreat

pretending to write something or be completely absorbed in reading what we wrote

for we both know that fiddling with cellphones is just far too lame

and we won’t profess our loneliness, never, but instead claim

that we’re quite alright writing poetry about our lonely lives

for heartache is the substrate upon which art thrives

and so we quietly withdraw under art’s aegis

to cold beds and blank pages

2.

i'm completely smitten by the bodies around

as they twist and turn into comfortable postures sitting cross-legged on the ground 

crouching on the parapet hugging vertical shins holding the camera up steady still

bending over the notebook the back a smooth arc the neck flat as over the pages hair spills

the head down horizontal the first two vertebrae like large beads above the t-shirt collar frayed

standing slouching against the wall with just a single shoulder blade touching it

your back a sensuous bow shooting arrows at me screaming to be sketched

hunched over in chairs the chin on the hand the elbow on the knees

leaning over sideways until the long earring hangs free

all straight lines and arcs and lovely shadows deep

if it wasn’t for the sketchbook i’d probably

be mistaken for a creep

3.

the faces absorbed as they contemplate words that resonate

that float about and hang still around us fluttering about shimmering

amongst the back-lit leaves of the raintree or becoming a part of the masonry

forever embedded amongst the bricks and the whitewash in your memory

words barely audible words spoken softly words shouted out loud

words expertly flicked over the heads of the mesmerized crowd

words that caress your skin and get under your clothes

and claw at hearts and choke your throats

words that lacerate or lift weights off your chest

talking of things you love and  things you detest

eyes sparkling in awe at the dexterity

with which they breathe magic into words

and then set them free

4.

i run around fixing things

making sure they run smoothly while my eyes stay fixed on you

i listen to the words that pour forth and think of what they might mean to you

i hang back trying to strike up a conversation but there’s nothing interesting that i do

while you are an accomplished poet with publications and residencies and books and ya, fans too

and you quickly get surrounded by them and i wonder if famous poets too get lonely sometimes

i wonder if you are ever spurned by a lover abandoned by words or deserted by rhyme

i imagine getting to know you and i imagine how if you asked me i would take

great pains to spell out my mail address very very carefully forming each alphabet

for people i’ve heard them say have been known to get

lost for nothing more than a spelling mistake