The Last Mango in Multan

It's that May that’s stretched out
at the core of the mango
like an orgasm
on the roof, small storms of instant dust
eddies of life's mutter,
(and you know only ed stands between
cool and fool)
you sucking the mango
the sun sucking you
the feral kitten sucking at the cat
mouth all gummed up with sweet leaf
and lassi
trying on hat after hat
until your ears stick out
there is no rose, for it is to hot
so there are no thorns, no worm in crimson joy
the only blood on the sheets.
For in Multan, there is only we - are - family
no I, no me
the guest a blessing from god.
Lahore Lahore is
the boys in greasy Mo's
eating meat from the feet
with hand and nan
five men and a boy, jammed in a car
sweating until it pours from the leather
Imran with tears on his cheeks
head bowed
down on his chin and lip
his heavy lids droop
and flutter
as if they bow to pray at Mecca
Big Ali in the front, always
and who could say without shame
its my turn?
Zaeem, zoom, hand on horn
effusive and cock-sure-ly-not
"Simpson, Simpson, this is the road to India."
"Hanji, Amritsar?"
"Hanji, get your gun!"
"Hanji."
Mehboob laughing high, like a child
grasping the head rest with both hands
and you, red faced, waiting
to get out,
but knowing no amount of wishing would do it.
six - was it not six?
No, No I
For in Multan there is no I
only the tragedy of the bent nail
not for Mahsoud - no - a tyre can be reflated
but for the horse that threw it!
For in Multan there is no want
who knows the lost consequence of a puncture
you curled in the back seat
a rest in pain
head on lap pillow kameez
wishing you ease,
but knowing it does no good
shielding your eyes from the light,
the light
teekha, teekha, just go with it
curled like smoke around a tuk tuk
every breath a life
every life closer, come closer
until I eat cake, while you eat the dirt of your grave
Sleep comes only
to the lullaby of a beating heart
another's otherness
like that moment you look at a friend
and see them new again
and see that you know them not -
but a little more - just -
a little more.
June
ah, the mango ripens
sealed in boxes
not opened for weeks
not seen
not tasted
until green becomes a flaming orange
and the juice drips
like hospital fluid
straight to the vein, and to the heart
ease at last
peace
comes only when you let go
teekha, teekha
you are in control
when you are not in control.
We know that always always
was
every stuff of life
and unlife,
recycled,
rebirthed,
demolished,
and built again
oh, bit to feel it!
all as whole
compressed and black
crushed until it can crush no more
crushed by its own expansion
because it cannot go on forever
can it?
Sweat will dry, and salt remain
to know is not enough!
You must have faith!
When you let go of what you know
of reality, of rock
solid atomic nature
depth
makes
cinemascope
redundant
Remember that
the best lives are lived beyond us
the best lives are lived around us
the best lives are lived between us
the best lives are living in us
with you - and she
For in Multan there is no me
she
is the last mango in Multan
she with thee
thee with she