Bloom
Burning up and down
Like the highest peak can’t be touched down
My dolce et petition
My sweetest devotion
Cracked open
I made my religion break open
Through cracks and bones
Amongst midnights and alleyed bones
Little fragile heart at my doorstep
Visiting my underworld stairway
My heavenly coldness
Crowns in my living room way
The porched open house
Little graffiti artistic pursuit
Of my hotspot on the opened door
Aside from the bottom line
Made my phone book worthy
Like living waters
The transparent ghost
My front porch open window
Burning lilies hanging open
My superbloom my resilient religion.
This poem is great. I love the last line.
This poem is courageous. I’ve read Veena Das’s book “Life and Words: Violence and the Descent into the Ordinary.” That book changes way I interpret the risks taken by Indian women poets. (Assuming this is the Sayani Mukherjee I think they are).