I have seen the thief of entire hill
Chipping a hill off ,stone by stone.
Hills are unmade as home stones,
Their body pieces graveling roads.
In new functions the hills hold up
Our smoking trains from a falling.
Earth smells less lovely from rain
When we are a thief of entire hill.
we are all not looking for reward
but only for a clarification of day
what it will be after a sun breaks
a silence after a dog’s barks stop
and a noise takes over from train
and the birds slowly stop twitter
after a chicken in the coop cries
as if the day opens on its throat.
chicken does not expect reward
but only clarification of the day.
We have no humming birds
But we do have their cousin,
The tiny sun bird in balcony.
This bird is brained enough
Trying to build its new nest
On a hanging internet wire.
It is not compromising data
But perhaps we cannot have
A feathered guest in balcony
Like an underwear hanging
To dry by the incoming sun,
A sun bird on a clothesline.
The poet aunt thought bird
Humming guest from Tunis,
The incoming evanescence.
Every blossom on her bush
Is adjusting a tumbled head.
Here there are no blossoms
Blushing on bush in balcony
Only an underwear hanging
On the clothesline intimately.
( Recalling Emily Dickinson’s poem The Route of Evanescence)
I have to acknowledge them
Through doors and windows
The smaller ones than usual
Who have taken birth in lake.
Lake is festering and algaed,
Smiling at the repeated suns
And shore trees giving place
To dead meat and fish scales.
Mosquitoes are a new guest
On our landscape, in our lift
In a darkness of our corners
In the nook of conversations.
Mosquitoes make our place
A defining landscape of life
A passing landscape like rain
That alternates with the sun.
Almond , almond , you are a light
Around God’s son in old painting.
Now in Diwali you are my eating,
A fixated body to float away from.
Your inside makes me mind sharp.
Your outside is a partly bird eaten.
You are marooned in fallen leaves
And tiny stones floating in the sun.
Almond , almond , why do you fall
When birds have stomach cramps?
Almond, almond, why are you light
When there are no more painters?
Almond,almond is there God’s son
In Mandorla light ,almond shaped?
Are minds almond sharp over milk
When a moon is partly bird eaten?
We keep looking .We keep chasing Rilke in the stars and under the old man’s bed. The eyelids are raised gently to the stars as they keep flowering beside a pale moon.
They hide women under them. The women’s blouse backs have old jasmines in them .
After Rilke,you keep looking
Under the stars and beyond
Or under the old man’s bed.
Chase after Rilke’s old man.
Keep looking a star beyond
Or under the old man’s bed.
We have old jasmines in our washed out pockets. They still smell of the stars.
Does parijat remember its roots,
Or a brief sky it had bloomed in
Along with the late night moon?
Death is so vulgar, utterly inane
On an earth, from blooming sky.
What a way to get back to roots.
(Parijat is night flowering Indian coral flower that drops to the earth after blooming)