when i was small everything i touched

turned to gold

                     then i stopped touching

& when i wanted to touch again

i made an ash of everything

this poem is a self-pity water-slide

do you want to read on?

don't you want a refund of your time?

to exchange it for credits that you can

cash in at a moment of beauty?

like the moment when the mynah descends

on a branch dislodging a barely-held leaf

that makes a squirrel running on the roof

pause to wait & watch the swirling leaf

be caught back by the earth?

you still here?

                 then let me tell you

when i was small & waiting

for my turn at the saloon

there were cages with lovebirds

chirping inside

                  i wanted to rip open

the doors & shake them into the sky

& run as fast as i could until i found

some shelter (i get to keep my hair long too)

when i was small & it was raining

at 2:10 pm when school ended

there were three kinds of kids—

those completely wrapped in their raincoats

those with little-too-big-for-them umbrellas

& those who ran as fast as they could through

the rain until they found some shelter

(i don't remember) which one was me

which one am i (don't want to remember)

ajay, please don't break open those cages

do you want them to die of freedom too?

~ ajay

11/6/2021