Poem
Gieve Patel
IT MAKES
IT MAKES
IT MAKES
It makes sense not
to have the body
seamless,
hermetically sealed, a
non-orificial
box of incorruptibles.
Better shot through and through!
Interpenetrated
– with the world. Air
mists my lymph. Ex
cretion, degrading
routine,
gives the world passage.
I am a bead.
Sorted,
thumbed,
threaded,
strung,
fingered (did you say) by
threads of all hues,
riddled through,
happily.
© 1991, Gieve Patel
From: Mirrored, Mirroring
Publisher: Oxford University Press, New Delhi
From: Mirrored, Mirroring
Publisher: Oxford University Press, New Delhi
Poems
Poems of Gieve Patel
Close
IT MAKES
It makes sense not
to have the body
seamless,
hermetically sealed, a
non-orificial
box of incorruptibles.
Better shot through and through!
Interpenetrated
– with the world. Air
mists my lymph. Ex
cretion, degrading
routine,
gives the world passage.
I am a bead.
Sorted,
thumbed,
threaded,
strung,
fingered (did you say) by
threads of all hues,
riddled through,
happily.
From: Mirrored, Mirroring
IT MAKES
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