Ghazal 23 – ‘on the tongue’

Since she left, there’s a festering revolt on the tongue,
But adulating in English feels ever so galat1 on the tongue.

She’s evaporated into the eld, a man of the future remains,
the cacophony of civilization puts a halt on the tongue.

Clawed out vinyls, strung bouzouki and drunken blues,
Scraps of her music linger, malt on the tongue.

The nawab clings to cinders, yearning for yesterday
His paan performs a final somersault on the tongue.

Nazar’s glassy gaze melts fractals into the sands,
That summer sublimates into cobalt on the tongue.

Mildew clings to memories, a flitting hippocrene,
The names of silhouettes default on the tongue.

in this lacuna: tigers shed skin, magpies go mute,
stanzas sputter, ink and pen waltz on the tongue.

when she shattered into spring, supernovae showered
galaxies of pepper-and-salt on the tongue.

Who are you fooling, Aflatoon? She’s an ash heap of history?
You’ve done nothing but exalt on the tongue.


[1] wrong

Photo by Ann Fossa on Unsplash

Bilal Moin

Bilal Moin (Aflatoon) is a young poet from balmy Bombay studying in nippy New Haven, CT. He uses verse to explore the idiosyncrasies of complex cultures, the deceptions of time and nostalgia, and the labyrinthine paradoxes of the human condition. His work has appeared in Himal Southasian, the Tipton Poetry Journal, Poetic Bond, Yale Hippopotamus, and the Scholastic Young Writers Anthology.