With good part of the moon eaten
By a shadow of our earth mother,
We are one up on good old moon
Who mocked our stomach excess
When we looked down at our feet .
We click a broken face in the night
And pickle it in disc for a revenge.
But we are abolishing our shadow
As we look down at our feet below
And now we espy in the east of sky
Stretchmarks we observe at night
On our mother’s child soft tummy,
And we see him back all of piece
Grinning behind waving coconut.
Intensity is flimsy surrender to night
And dreams, airy things opening up
To your body, to existence in doubt.
It is gray bats cross-flying on a roof
Before rain has made mossy maps
And eagles low- fly like paper kites
Out in a blank sky well before time
As early breeze fails to flutter color.
Touch body to make sure it is there.
Smell a dew like you would a snake
In bush by a movement you sensed.
Feel the jerk in the bird’s puny body
As sudden eyes fall on its existence.
Intensity is bird’s acknowledgement
Of an existence, of your being there,
A re-assertion of its own existence.
Our eyes met in God’s little room,
Full of tenderness of lonely night-
The lizard was looking for his food
That would not look him in his eye.
Insects made God’s wilted flowers
Their homes, flowers still fragrant
In their deaths, deaths that smelt
As pure temporary events in time.
Insects might have met him in eye,
If there were time before deaths.
So they looked God’s capital eye
As we all do when our eyes close.
I come upon Babul trees
On the sides of highway.
The trees reach upward
To a translucent blue sky
As I crinkle eyes upward
In its green leafy spaces.
They have bleeding gum
On their ant infestations.
Man’s empty water bottle
Continues against Babul.
A pill walking on lonely darkness,
It is long-legged beauty on fence
At the centre of thinking in itself.
The creature is a cultured beauty
Walking on a unhurried mission.
It has to spit longest fine thread
To spin gossamer silk of dreams.
After when there are rain pearls
By sun quick to weeping leaves,
The spit turns web to catch world
So the world is caught helplessly.
Now where is walking brown pill
And where are its long fine legs
Mixed up in heaps of dry leaves?
The pill is lost in a bird stomach
Before very dream is completed.
The little pill held its real time
With pearls in a morning sun
And filaments after filaments,
Made bridges to its vastness,
Noiseless as in a promontory
Patient as the poet marked it.
Only to find pearl maker rain
Felt heavy upon its gossamer
And pill has to make bridges
All over again to its vastness.
(Reading Walt Whitman’s poem “A Noiseless Patient Spider”)
On the morning of bedewed grass
My bare walk hardly leaves notes,
Only bird notes, from park trees.
The grass cowers in a wet silence,
But raises heads once in a while.
Its wetness tingles an underfoot.
A painful thorn peeps sometimes
From shadows hid in self-respect.
A noisy nose on the green bench
Dumps a breath of fresh dirty air
But takes much more of green air.
A broken lawn-mower lies listless
Throwing up its hands in despair
Powerless to cut its pride to size.
Cold feet barely manage to sink
In its bleary top submissiveness
Moving away in numb pantlegs
Before park sprinkler gets them.