Oct 30, 2018 Original Poetry
Ruby-Song
©October 31st, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
I crave rubies in my throat
So I can sing like a clarinet.
The pomegranate in my fridge is tired
I regard it with fondness –
My partner in enervation.
Its redness is beyond the price of rubies.
It calls to me coldly, like a clarion,
A question shaping its urgent need.
Somewhere else, a beet sings of redness too,
Far beyond my ken, I’m sure of it,
But it sings a darker red, a sombre passion.
I will seek it at some other point.
I have need of clarity, coldness, red fire.
And this other, pressing matter at hand –
My pomegranate – which has but one purpose,
Since its other purpose was abrupted
When it was cut down from the mother-tree.
I will answer its call, but not now.
Tomorrow, I shall cut into it, inhale
Its weary fragrance, suck its tart juices.
The pomegranate will bleed in delight,
And die on my tongue.
And I will sing with a voice like rubies.
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