A Question of Identity
We do not blend
into the pink tropical sand.
Far more visible we are
than rocky cliffs from which,
if I stand and face the wind,
secrets of the past crawl, ant-like,
into my unwitting ear.
As I climb the ladder to the bluff,
sea grass reaches out;
I brush its grasp away
offering it nothing but rejection
as once did ancestors
who stood upon this ledge
and pushed another man,
opposite him on the color wheel,
into a watery hereafter.
His descendants say
this is the way of survival
I say
it is the way of extinction
And soon we all are gone,
no voices heard,
no footsteps, not even
a scrap of sentimental cotton.
Oh Lord, we know not
who we are
or who we might have been.
When He's Had Enough
Today of all days, he chooses
to stand, feet firmly planted.
A wide-based oak, he joins the forest
Hears the rising rustle of rebellion's ecstasy
This grove of thumping hearts
of polyphonic chants
that feel like summer rain to a parched leaf,
that strip away fear's binding web,
that bring back dying town's pulsation;
Is it this that draws
the truth from diaphragm to mouth
like capillaries siphon blood to skin?
He gives no ground, moves nowhere,
though others quake
choking in a storm of smoke
Let it be said: today this street is his.
Bio: Mukund Gnanadesikan is a poet, novelist, and physician who lives in Northern California. His first novel, “Errors of Omission” was released in 2020. A sample of his recent poetry can be seen in Poetry Quarterly, Ginosko Review, and Remington Review.
Fevers of the Mind 
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