Best Poem of A. G. Bawang

Harassment
He turned the lights off
and pretended to grow deaf
at the nagging of the internal drum
His trembling hands began to stroke
the smooth ivory skin
he had been tracing in his mind
for many a sleepless nights

Two fell, cheap table frames
and the indubitable shattering of their glasses
into . . .
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Calendar Night
This
Long hour
Of waiting
Is like that morn
When I drank thirteen
Cups of Arabica

I cling to this frail blanket
Frantically trying to abstain
From rays or forms of incandescence
I shut my mind off as if it’s a switch
But his convolutedness is Juggernaut
So once again I turn, c . . .
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