I Know The Honey In The Honeycomb. Poem by PARTHA SARATHI PAUL

I know, your heart pines for my love
as hard as the space empty stomach of a peasant in Kalahandi
pines for some staple food
in the music of bile bitter hunger pangs.

I know, the Tiber is filled up with your silent flood tears
at the ritual wrangles between my yes, yes, yes and your no, no's.

I know how you hold your blushed Dandelion visage
in your covert Ananya vase
at the utterance of my name in any other voice.

I know, you can muster the warrior princes Xena in you
with a Hercules valor sword to safeguard
the holy Bible honor of your love
against the diabolical foes of the son of Sirach.

I know how your sleepless heavy nights
heave a long sigh of placid relief in my rock firm arms
and how your starved lungs suck infinite oxygen from my lips.

Do you know that I know your love anointed real mythology?
Once you read the murals on the walls of this lover heart
all tapestry pink valves will tell you a honeycomb tale, my sweetheart.