Manna

How do I eat cake after manna?
Can I chew frog legs, escargo, biryani after this?
All the world’s flavours pale now after this –
Hand-made, hand-rolled, fed to me:
Your manna

How can I savour sweetness after manna? All things have lost their tastes and I long for more;
Craving, crying out for more –
Sun-dried, fermented, home-made:
Your manna

How can I enjoy hunger now when I’ll never be sated?
I turn to the skies into which you have leapt. I curse my follies. I wait for the next day of manna.

Oh, when will you come back again?

Skins

My Third World Skin. Rich in Melanin. It won’t turn against me, inspite of the UV; not yet – inspite of the threat, from the CO2 and the dents that you [ ] leave.

You leave.

Abandon me to liver spots, the marks of embraces, the burrowing anger –
In the torrid summer
I smolder, I smoke,
I blow it up into the blue;
I watch those veins pulse
Under your First World skin.

I show you my forearms
Dry, scabby, mosquitoed –
This is a history of my world.
I open your clenched fists,
Linger (too long) on a layer-less love;
I smell your head, kiss it,
Hold it between my palms;
I measure your skull:
This is a history of our world.

I pause as you prepare to go.
Leave something for me here!
Take a bit of me with you!
Return it when you can.