Where Are the Winds(after the painting by Richard Pousette-Dart)
Where
have they gone
the winds that left
their footprints on the air
on dunes, in rings of wood
and weathered hills;
where
like wounded birds
do they disappear
behind the clouds
dropping their feathers
and bones
In secret, silent heaps
leaving not even
a trace of their breath
on clear-cold glass
as certain proof
that they had passed this way;
where
but to that still
and windless place
that they call death.
Earth(after the woodcut from the Home is a
Foreign Place series by Zarina Hashmi)
In the soundless vacuum
of my mind
a foreign place
too far away to recollect
the shape of wind
if birds fly
snakes crawl
my life in the folds
and strata of the land
It speaks to me
blue voice of yesterday
hushed calm at peace--
I an exile
on a distant star
it calls me back
with no way home.
Trajectory #1(after the etching by Richard Serrra)
Even as I move in a perfect line
in this imperfect space unmoved
by the passage of the years
time speeds through the marrow
of my bones and curves around
the center of my soul
as if I were the sun.
it is my path as I grow old
unrepentant, unresolved
from the question to its response
from creation to my rebirth
I move in parallels
of impermanent space
determined for an answer
from the dark.
Where
have they gone
the winds that left
their footprints on the air
on dunes, in rings of wood
and weathered hills;
where
like wounded birds
do they disappear
behind the clouds
dropping their feathers
and bones
In secret, silent heaps
leaving not even
a trace of their breath
on clear-cold glass
as certain proof
that they had passed this way;
where
but to that still
and windless place
that they call death.
Earth(after the woodcut from the Home is a
Foreign Place series by Zarina Hashmi)
In the soundless vacuum
of my mind
a foreign place
too far away to recollect
the shape of wind
if birds fly
snakes crawl
my life in the folds
and strata of the land
It speaks to me
blue voice of yesterday
hushed calm at peace--
I an exile
on a distant star
it calls me back
with no way home.
Trajectory #1(after the etching by Richard Serrra)
Even as I move in a perfect line
in this imperfect space unmoved
by the passage of the years
time speeds through the marrow
of my bones and curves around
the center of my soul
as if I were the sun.
it is my path as I grow old
unrepentant, unresolved
from the question to its response
from creation to my rebirth
I move in parallels
of impermanent space
determined for an answer
from the dark.
