The Road | Amit Parmessur

I watch the children play
and the neighbours trespass
when my dogs forget to shout
at them.

I am not Lombard Street,
the crookedest.
I am simple and straight.
I sob when the clouds
drool excessively
at their own pregnancy.

Other times, I am left
with unwet memories,
feeling biblically dusty.
It hurts to have a cul-de-sac;
this amputation draws despair
on my lover’s whole body.

Still it is love.

I am not a revamped
Orchard Road with reindeers
cavorting through palm trees
and gingerbread houses
topped with fake snow.
I am battered and nude.
I go through lost pebbles
to allow my lover find
her way. And I long
to see her heels again;

I long to see
the wind blow a change.
Had my girl told me
what she felt for me,
I would have left my land,
my people, my secret,
and followed her perfection.

I am not even Via Dolorosa.

Born in 1983, Amit Parmessur has appeared in several literary magazines, including Transcendence, Ann Arbor Review, Salt, Black-Listed Magazine, Kalkion and Red Fez. He was nominated for the Pushcart Award and Best of the Web. Hailing from Mauritius he also writes in Creole. Sometimes he just wants to give it up all and become a billionaire.