Untitled Verse by Dominic Franks

It is a rare privilege to know a writer. Especially someone that can breathe a fresh lease of life into words; and make those damned words stand up and punch your soul between its legs.
When I met Dominic in Bangalore Medical College (he is a doctor by the way) I thought he was just another hot-blooded young man: naive in believing that he could change the world. Wet behind the ears in thinking that life is one big poem; written by poets like him. As the years wore on, we became great friends; together, we have guzzled down innumerable, frothing pitchers; Lamented together on life, lovers, land, and the ladies; Burnt away bales of tobacco; Traveled to places that, in a fleeting passage of time, etch indelible, fond memories in our hearts. Though he is an arrogant bastard, he is good fun. I sincerely pray that he retains the sense of humor, even when lady life unveils her true self and dishes out agony and squeezes the energy out of you, like a kid playing with an exhausted toothpaste tube. Ladies and gentlemen (and others :-D). I am glad to introduce Dominic 'Wolf' Franks:

On Bangalore...
when a city loses her trees,
she does not lose the birdsong
nor the merry whispering wind
nor the cool jewelled breeze
nor the radiant sapphire leaves
nor the memories of lovers
nor god's natural umbrellas
nor the shimmering waterfall of flowers
nor the friendly woodbark.
she loses much more than these...

she loses the folksongs of heritage
she loses the laurel wreath of history
she loses her sparkling innocence
she loses unclaimed legacies
she loses her own identity.

and the city is no longer
inhabited by brave young men,
but is now peopled with the
ghosts of their forefathers
as she lies ravaged
by the ashes and ruins of time.

Untitled
as night falls with charm anew
women weep in loveless beds
the glory morning brings is true
when the tears of last night lie dead.

-Dominic 'Wolf' Franks

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