Dom Moraes (19 July 1938 – 2 June 2004 / Mumbai / India)
The architecture of an aunt
Made the child dream of cupolas,
Domes, other smoothly rounded shapes.
Geometries troubled his sleep.
The architecture of young women
Mildly obsessed the young man:
Its globosity, firmness, texture,
Lace cobwebs for adornment and support.
Miles from his aunt, the old child
Watched domes and cupolas defaced
In a hundred countries, as time passed.
A thousand kilometres of lace defiled,
And much gleaming and perfect architecture
Flaming in the fields with no visible support.
Comments about this poem (Architecture by Dom Moraes )
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