There was a general vagueness to our camera
A fog of the rain, a fuzzy smoke in the valleys
Where woman and mountain merged in each other.
We  had tea on the slopes, where women hung
At the sky’s edge , about two leaves and a bud
A basket where they hurled their green pickings.
Our tea was spread in plastic bag,in green light
Not a tea in cup that warmed stomachs in smoke.

( A visit to the tea gardens of Darjeeling)

Enhanced by Zemanta

The bridge


Before dark the bridge may be asked to span
The distances, unaided by support systems
Only by a sun going ,going and gone below.
A slightly ocher and yellow thing hangs there
To somewhat of disappointment,but the curve
There is woman’s curve ,of the river at the
Eye’s end view with another bridge taking
The horizon’s place, in many words and now
There is click in your throat and sun gone.

Where is the bridge light of your old waters
In the shimmer of a sun’s smooth dalliances
With tree’s shadows tingling breezed ripples?
Come another day, another dusk,with pure light
In your camera’s eyes and a heart closely held
In throat and love gathered in wondering eyes .