Unable to disentangle
From the choking mass
Gathering in my throat.
All that I cannot hear
Startling the bar.
Than the insincerity of silence
Dinner of the unspeaking
Orders cut off in mid air -
Your fingers aren’t grasping
My throat, and still I am strangled
By these swollen threads
Of your heart, pining elsewhere -
While my dough feet remain stubbornly plastered
Here, no yearnings else, but to grow
Large in this place of my choosing.
This bowl cannot hold your steaming desires.
Not a dish, but an idea,
Loose and unfixed
It must see worlds -
Check - the meal is over.