1. The Indian Way
On Sundays she would
Wear her mothers saree.
Blue and green, with
Whimsical peacocks.
A garland of Mogras
Hung amidst her
Mahogany hair;
Ah! I was in love.
The curve of her hips,
The ability of her hair
To imitate the sea.
Sneaking kisses between
Her trips to the temple
Her sitar lessons,
I crawled into her heart.
I was ravenous;
For the caresses of
her caramel skin.
Ravenous, to hold her hand
Under Van Gogh's stars.
How subtly would she smile;
Mocking my ignorance
Of lust and love.
How silently would she mourn
My brief charm
On her fickle heart.
How breathtakingly would she hide,
Her partial devotion
To my lips.
On Sundays she would
Wear her mothers saree.
Blue and green, with
Whimsical peacocks.
A garland of Mogras
Hung amidst her
Mahogany hair;
Ah! I was in love.
The curve of her hips,
The ability of her hair
To imitate the sea.
Sneaking kisses between
Her trips to the temple
Her sitar lessons,
I crawled into her heart.
I was ravenous;
For the caresses of
her caramel skin.
Ravenous, to hold her hand
Under Van Gogh's stars.
How subtly would she smile;
Mocking my ignorance
Of lust and love.
How silently would she mourn
My brief charm
On her fickle heart.
How breathtakingly would she hide,
Her partial devotion
To my lips.
***
2. Mia Mango
Mia Mango,
The deliciousness of a moment,
Sojourn with the season, warm and arid;
Rejuvenating with warm yellow blood.
Mia Mango,
Offspring of a perfect circle,
Life and death,
Summer and winter,
Let your body merge with mine.
Mia Mango,
Of a childhood bearded in green.
Of yellow wisdom, ripe and warm,
Seeds of life forever trapped within;
Flowering away from the mother.
Mia Mango,
Shed this yellow flesh, sacrifice,
Sink into the soil and reach within,
The death of you is the birth of me.
Mia Mango, O Mia Mango.
***
3. In Konkan
Betel Nut trees shroud a small house, in Konkan;
The clocks have forgotten how to spin.
They say these silences hold great secrets, in Konkan;
The beaches shiver at night.
A hundred cellos bleed every night in Konkan;
In memory of Aaji, they bleed her rhyme.
Aaji's voice echoes through the woods, in Konkan;
And now the woods have lost their song.
Emptiness makes its way to everybody, Konkan;
It settles in everything, eventually.
The sea sways for no one, in Konkan;
A thick moss now grows on the footsteps.
The old house melts down wearing crowns of oblivion, in Konkan;
By true artistry of time, it lies forgotten.
Betel Nut trees shroud a little house, in Konkan;
The clocks have forgotten how to spin.
***
4. Pendulum
Same roads.
Same fragrances.
Birds rise up, spread
like white rivers across the skies.
Pigeons murmur
secret visions, memories
of an unnamed hill
behind the misty veil of winter.
Touched by the frail fingertips of reality.
Nothing but poetry
and metaphors,
to fill the gap in time
between creating and recollecting.
Been trapped for too long.
Been dead for too long.
And I might just sever
my catatonic heart
riding this overwhelming oscillation.
But echoes of human voices drag me down.
No grandeur
of the past.
No lust
for the future.
Meanwhile
in the houses
calendars flip.
day by day
a hundred thousand birds sit,
they do not dare
to fly
2. Mia Mango
Mia Mango,
The deliciousness of a moment,
Sojourn with the season, warm and arid;
Rejuvenating with warm yellow blood.
Mia Mango,
Offspring of a perfect circle,
Life and death,
Summer and winter,
Let your body merge with mine.
Mia Mango,
Of a childhood bearded in green.
Of yellow wisdom, ripe and warm,
Seeds of life forever trapped within;
Flowering away from the mother.
Mia Mango,
Shed this yellow flesh, sacrifice,
Sink into the soil and reach within,
The death of you is the birth of me.
Mia Mango, O Mia Mango.
***
3. In Konkan
Betel Nut trees shroud a small house, in Konkan;
The clocks have forgotten how to spin.
They say these silences hold great secrets, in Konkan;
The beaches shiver at night.
A hundred cellos bleed every night in Konkan;
In memory of Aaji, they bleed her rhyme.
Aaji's voice echoes through the woods, in Konkan;
And now the woods have lost their song.
Emptiness makes its way to everybody, Konkan;
It settles in everything, eventually.
The sea sways for no one, in Konkan;
A thick moss now grows on the footsteps.
The old house melts down wearing crowns of oblivion, in Konkan;
By true artistry of time, it lies forgotten.
Betel Nut trees shroud a little house, in Konkan;
The clocks have forgotten how to spin.
***
4. Pendulum
Same roads.
Same fragrances.
Birds rise up, spread
like white rivers across the skies.
Pigeons murmur
secret visions, memories
of an unnamed hill
behind the misty veil of winter.
Touched by the frail fingertips of reality.
Nothing but poetry
and metaphors,
to fill the gap in time
between creating and recollecting.
Been trapped for too long.
Been dead for too long.
And I might just sever
my catatonic heart
riding this overwhelming oscillation.
But echoes of human voices drag me down.
No grandeur
of the past.
No lust
for the future.
Meanwhile
in the houses
calendars flip.
day by day
a hundred thousand birds sit,
they do not dare
to fly
