Image by Mark Basarab
silhouette — eyes draped
to forget the view of
that touch,
stars wave their flesh,
hang together in
an unreliable
reminiscence,
of what it was, in its night-
time sagacity —
the landmark of my body
rose and fell, began, so to come
to an end,
every breath became star-dust,
haloed in the light of its own
remembrance —
can i be trusted with the s-shaped
curves of that juncture?—
a rendezvous
of halved lusts – biting, igniting,
believing – of a brazen luck,
or a chance companionship
or a calcifying causality
of a lost need for love —
broken beds, filigreed facts,
in the topsy-turvy, much-forgotten
tremors of a memory,
with hidden traces of what remained
and has to be returned.
.
© Anmol Arora 2018
Originally written for and featured on Visual Verse. Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads.
***
Now that I am back in the thick of things, I am thinking of reviving the old concept of Guest Post here. So, this is an invitation to anyone out there willing to share their words, prose, poetry, rambling, ideas, crafts, arts, publications, et al. to use this space for sharing and promoting their personal/professional work. I have a very humble readership (in quantitative terms, despite the rather larger figure of the total number of followers) but I am sure that the ones who read and visit me will love to hear from you. If interested, you can write to me (with a short pitch for the guest post) at hamusesanewtune@gmail.com or on my Instagram. To get an idea of what has been done before, visit this section called Guest Post (the scope can vary from Oloriel’s poem with the story and inspiration behind her piece to Jen’s short lesson on the World of WordPress and blogging etiquette).
HA's Place 
there is something about this poem, that begs to be read, repeatedly, to wrap the mind around its dimensions, the complexity, the layers, for the words – and the meanings, the essences of questioning, – memory – can be it trusted? is it reliable? how do we, re-shape and form it, to suit, to disassemble and re-fit, retro-fit it, ourselves –
because we live and breathe and understand the world, as filtered by our experiences, and if experience, once concluded in the moment, then falls to “storage” – to memory, then can we be sure of it? or, ourselves?
this is poignantly “bittersweet” and yet, somehow very, profoundly moving – not only for the questioning of Time – and how it shapes and reshapes energy, and ourselves, but also, because the poem hints at, and references a relationship – one that seems to have been fleeting, compact, perhaps extremely heated, sexual, tense, but also, it speaks at something more – maybe of loss. And it’s troubling. And the exploration of self, this journey into the heart of darkness, an almost figurative “black hole” is rather delicate for its sensitivity.
(at least, this is my sitting and re-reading of this (I’ve had to read it many times, throughout this day) in order to try to tease out its essences, and I’m not sure if I have, “correctly” – but this is how I’ve come to appreciate and understand this poem)
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I agree with Pat, this is poem to be read over and over, the way you have used the alliteration in some of the phrases as well as the unique word choice makes the reading a pleasure, yet the pain of a relationship “having to be returned”, make me think of a poem where the love was never forever, just borrowed…
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I agree with Bjorn and Pat. The word choices are uniquely you and yet, the feeling is universal. The relationship “having to be returned” puts me in mind of something that didn’t quite fit or the vase that was the wrong color. Bittersweet yes but also, bitter sad.
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kaykuala
broken beds, filigreed facts,
in the topsy-turvy, much-forgotten
tremors of a memory,
Fantastic write, HA! You have that awesome talent for the unbelievable choice of the choicest of words. It takes a wonder to digest on the first time read!
Hank
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can i be trusted with the s-shaped
curves of that juncture?— love that! beautifully crafted!
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First of all, thank you for Joni – I needed her this morning!
I read your poem on Visual Verse Anmol, but, of course, couldn’t comment on it there, The delicacy of language and imagery is almost overwhelming! I especially love the lines:
‘every breath became star-dust,
haloed in the light of its own
remembrance’
and
‘a rendezvous
of halved lusts – biting, igniting,
believing – of a brazen luck,
or a chance companionship
or a calcifying causality
of a lost need for love’.
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The poetics of love is shaped and filigreed and torn this way, rousing, approaching, falling, failing, fading out and coming back. The body is both metaphor and author and the heart its ghostly twin. Who can be trusted with those “s-shaped curves”? Who has the intelligence, the fire, the words? It’s why we come back to read HA again.
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Breathtaking
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