Chanced up on a gathering
where chests were being beaten
and wedding gowns of nudity ripped in shards
requiems squealed for every pleasure every indulgence
every orgasm; stuck in
rush hour of remembrance
Providence’s ordained second fiddle player
burdened underneath blackened crepes of customs
It was Ward-III Civil Hospital Karachi
storage facility of fire wood to stoke
the satanic flames of poverty
a manufacturing concern of large flypaper
meant to attract farthest slings of mud
With head hung in shame I returned;
and for the well suffixed and prefixed existence
in backdropp of their anonymity
all I had were some malnourished tears
some watery lei born in melee of guilt and gratitude
My forehead itched scampered for terra firma
and found comfort in the stony indifference
of wall that comforts.....
I was at that gathering
couldn't gather why? ? ?
[Libera me, Domine repost as Gathering]
Frank Lisa IndiRa Francesca Roger Platt Cornish Martin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gathering-4/
