Kamlovik, at 72, has made a fine decision—
to have just one white butterfly flower
pinned at the top.
Like the one on the collar of a new-sewn coat.
This flaunting is enough
for the one
who has gone and would go through
his life at an even pace.
Like Kaisara Kum, at 89, I would exercise belief
that age commands.
My placard varnished thick brown—
my ever-blooming flowers laid
in covered cardboxes.
One must live lustily, after all.
More than eighty
and still growing strong
with these crisp flowers.
Captain Hauteii spews fire and blood
and golden crowns
in star spangled indigo sky.
The cross crosses the crossed swords
and the serpentine letter S wraps all.
The graves of three infants
in fresh coat of light gray
with tilted cross and no flower
that we shall meet beyond the river—
Where shall we meet that six year old
and when and what river?
In a distant corner
the blood red crescent blooms
fill the green shade with new gloom—
I don’t know why.
It is too far to read the inscription
and the slope is too slippery.
©2007 by Arun Gaur
Arun Gaur now lives in Panchkula
(Haryana, India). He has taught British and American literature at
the Department of English, Mizoram Central University, Aizawl, where he
the Senior Reader. His work has appeared in different journals
including Ariga, Sol Magazine, Poetry Magazine, Ygdrasil, Eclectica,
42opus, Orbis, Poetry Salzburg Review, 3rd Muse, and Boyne