the time of our rose (2014)

Pink roses. © Saara Punjani 2014.
Pink roses. © Saara Punjani 2014.

the time of our rose has passed us,
and we become more bitter by the day

reach out your hand and pluck us, love;
remove us from the misery of these days


this is not our season;
this place is not our stage

linger though we might,
we are so much less dazzling
though we recall how beautiful
we’ve once been

the blossom that grew us
from the seed of our names
robed us in a quality,

have we been asleep,
or have we been afraid
to let go, to move on,
come what may?

there is no telling
what we will be
the moment after the one
where we are

what fruit may we bear,
if we trust in ourselves,
if we let ourselves be,
who we are?


our bitterness weighs
on the very branch that nurtured us,
and we wilt and we droop in our pain

our poison spreads

we see it,
but we don’t stop it,
and that makes us very afraid.


atrium (2007)

Before time there was
only my shell and


the fleshy vacuole inside where,


I waited to see what time would
hold for my fluid existence

suspended in what I now know to be
the atrium of blindness where


I could see blindly      only
what sights were created for me       especially,

the cosmic particles floating quietly
overhead in the gleaming red


the dazzling
lights which marked time,

but not the passing of thousands of years
in the lit sky


in the globular kind of
entrapment, meant only as a harbour
before the unsettling waves of the outside

in this atrium was my shell, my lungs shell


in this atrium was the continual gloom
and sticky comfort of being held close,
closely held by the strings of an internal universe,

held here for an unknown duration, blindly,
so that I could know the


raw reds that were,
before the greens and pinks of my Mother.

it feels like spring here (2007)

a spring of creamy butterfly wings beating joyfully
beating joyfully on the beating walls
of your stomach beating with joy

a spring of sudden wind gusts
that rush up behind and
with gusto, sweep you off your feet

a spring of a sun reborn
awakening earlier with each morning
less and less eager to depart

it feels like spring here

I feel the butterflies
in my stomach, anxiously
waiting for you

when you lift
me off my feet I hear
that gust

the sun lingers but
time hurries by,
as if to compensate

it feels a lot like spring here
with you,
with spring

to be with you (2007)

to be with you, be would the passion
that I’ve been for searching years for


be you with me too, please, afraid I
not, to beg since my pride melted and


will love me too, for every life and each
moment I together have unearthed with


because still stand clock hands when
told to, crawls by time when asked to, by


and beats heart richly than before ever
life in, next to, beating too, heart in