ME AND THE SEA
I looked and watched sea in all its glory,
I thought I heard it speaking.
Slightest murmur and faint rush beneath the stillness,
Stillness of the bay, as it lay constrained in its
Temporary straight jacket,
Not hospital white, but a slick purple black,
As if dyed for disguise.
It spoke but without a mouth or tongue or voice
Like a terror stilled face,
Like a burn.
But at sunrise the sea was signal
The burnished surface of a God composed of multitudes of
Shining bee-stung eyes.
Dawn comes and goes
like a woman rising from her bed
And then returning,
The bed-linen softening with the
Constant downpour of love and its
Eternal nectar and dreams, and
Those orgasmic sighs and sweat-laden pants.
daylight like a pox mark
Where rocks lie like road-side beggars,
So publicly exposed.
And at night there’s the moon’s brightness
Siphoned off by the shore lights as if
he low roofs of the tattered beach shacks,
Poised as hunches that don’t spring.
That won’t ever,
ver spring while a light fluorescence
Of municipal lights.
Spreads beneath the landscape of a
Beautiful village, a colour of
Deep green water,
Water of the sea
YOU ARE FARAWAY!
I still remember I saw you last
On the sun-drenched roads of mud and tar.
I can not forget the shiver and the sigh of
That pair of panthers mating in full public view.
Privacy for them is a thing of wild,
They are not what they used to be,
They are caged, they are beasts.
But what about we, the civilized beasts?
Summer this time parched my throats and thoughts,
Dried up like parched twigs arching its
Leafless fingers towards the sun and trying to
Slave the sun and its fire
To drag it down to my feet!
A scorching heat crept on my belly and
Whitening bones and drained face.
I sigh and pant in the pool of
Loneliness and seclusion.
You are far away but still close to my heart.
How somebody can remind me your face
As round as a freshly harvested apple
And dew drops moistening those fluffy and round eyes
Often you call it beauty sleep!
Often I wonder why it seems that my summer will
Even the crows utter its eternal suffering
Only when the sun collapses deep down in the
Faraway sky and only when
The uneasy night floats over and over
Stifling me into a suffering
That afternoon windblown.
People, old-timers, elders say
Mountains never move but
Only wind blows;
But never ever in my dream
I saw mountain moving
And touching my feet.
A miracle or a dream never conceived.
I vividly remember that
Puzzled and astonished look of mine;
It was writ large on the face
And plump plumes turned purple,
Limbs shivering in search of
That old rhythm and beat
Carrying with a deep and
Invincible forest full of silt-sand.
Such was the fury of that mountain
On that afternoon, and
Everybody had on their lips
One and only one word to chant