Ode to La Ribaute (a tribute to Anselm Kiefer)
Will grass grow over my cities?
Will knowledge sprout
from lead?
Can anything grow on
my books?
When columns tuber
the earth,
Will it be as above
so below?
Can I turn to ash
what books have done to me?
Can I shatter reflections
to present a self-forming?
Can I wreck mirrors
into a million pieces for a myriad 'me's?
What if stars fell as
crystal rain?
Does the molten
streak of an underground stream keep the light it catches?
Can concrete come
alive in its sinews?
When does material
become carnal?
Can I grow concrete in
my garden?
When a slow ash falls
on grit-gripping canvas,
and I struggle with the fish at hand,
Have I cast death
upon you?
©Ganapathy Mahalingam, 2016-2022