By Dom Moraes
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.
© Dom Moraes
From: Collected Poems
Publisher: Penguin India. (2004)
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