Poems - JP Melville

Water Buffalo 1990 and Today jp melville I asked a water buffalo one day If it knew That the world was divided into two halves: Haves, have nots. Buffalo, belly deep in mud, rice paddy water, Produced forlorn eyes. Buffalo munched on her cud Of rice straw, Said nothing. Sitting beneath a mango tree I lit a cigarette, Inhaled Exhaled slowly. Buffalo swished its tail To chase a small bird That had landed on its back To peck at insects.

Oh God I Love My Children time eternal jp melville When the doorbell sounds and my driver has arrived I kiss the children goodbye… and knowing I will be back to them the sun breaks through the clouds pours light into the apartment and I see over the city this strange city Tbilisi that all will be alright that all is alright with this world. Oh God, I love my children.

If We Had Not Loved You dateline: waved away and wind brought her back – oh time jp melville Who would have kissed me goodnight? You? How is it that some of us enter night ready for tomorrow, when others among us enter night ready to be alive? Kiss me goodnight?   Then leave the room, close the door, and sleep? What, in all vanity, gives you the confidence to enter my life, my nation, into the blood of my people, enjoin us, take our oil, rape us… how could you seduce me, giving all for years for children for a life… how could you seduce us, that we would die for our nationhood, break from the Soviet past, then sleep with our prostitutes, sell promises to our refugees, and move then to your next desire? I lie lost in my path, lost in my past. One hundred years ago or more I kissed Europe and forwent my Persia. Nicholas spat with Napoleon, the Ataturks the Turks the Georgians, The century turned and the Whites became the Reds, And we

You Asked About Responsibility forever date jp melville Though not really a poem, I thought you might like to read this… friend... Cold November rain falls early this Sunday morning.   No schedule.   No duties.   Awake before the light begins to rise in the dawn.   Coffee steaming before me.   A cigarette burning, which I inhale, hold, and exhale slowly.   Then sip my black coffee.   I have a candle burning so that I can write these notes.   I listen to the patter of the raindrops on the roof, in the naked branches of the trees, in the dark puddles outside on the ground.   Also, I hear voices from the bazaar, maybe a stone throw from this house, across the walls of two compounds.   Food and trade continue, some things never change.   Azerbaijan loses her Shusha and the Karabakh mountains to the Armenians, borders change, once people here had electricity.   Now, people must eat, war, no war, ceasefire or not, so the market opens and trade happens.   And the chi