For Srinivas Rayaprol
We spoke to the same Master
-- Pound and Williams
And with their masterplans
You built your house of poems
Elegant as bridges / cunning engineer
Of mystic arches, subtle chemistry
Your fathers fixed the grammars
Of your tongues
You soared with the flight of words
Those to come after you
Had the blueprint of birdflight
But they build you a mausoleum
Brick by brick
So that your poems can sleep
In dusty library
As our women do in uneasy beds
Out of breath...
A poet too can run out of breath
But never out of words
To do so would indeed be death
And cunning geometry! Poets also only
dwell on earth.