Caress

Not finger on skin,

lip on lip

and other felt things

made for quivering and sigh.

no,

it is a heartbeat blend

the twirl of thought with thought

word on word

phrase within phrase

and a comforting

that defies distance,

outlasts togetherness.

'
[from the collection 'The underside of silence', shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2008]

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Notes on Silence

I

Silence is a lifetime;

made of waiting

of a dream desired that never arrives,

of love that will not accept caress,

of a heart that refuses to bleed,

or slams shut its door to the most innocent query.

II

Silence is a continent;

a barren landscape that I have walked

that I am walking,

where a multiplicity of mirages

tease the heart’s eye

in merciless bombardment.

III

Silence is made of rain

each drop an ancient ocean

upon whose shores I knelt and prayed

for your arrival.

IV

Silence is night time,

a full moon blighted by impediments

of cloud and trees,

blurring, shredding,

and moonlight falling like tears upon my heart.

V

Silence comes even with the smile of daybreak

that delicate heartbreaking rupture of night;

it turns back sunlight

and tells me softly,

“the long night has not ended,

and perhaps it never will”.

VI

Silence,

Is made of a beautiful heart,

marked by refusal.

yielding a harvest:

centuries of waiting

and tears that will not fall

for fear of disturbing the earth that is you. 

[the above is a SINGLE poem and was also shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2008]

Alms-giving

And when sleep

has been detained

at some unnamed checkpoint

many miles, many years

from Here and Now,

my gaze scrambles over fractured word

broken taste of chocolate

and coffee that wants to recover

its bean-form,

I, mendicant,

am at your doorstep.

just standing outside

carrying nothing

but the bruise

of contested histories

and the unkempt hair

of stories I've archived.

Poor.

[from the collection 'The Underside of Silence', shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2008]

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You and I

If you are the entire spectrum

of colours seen, unseen and imagined,

let me be a single sliver

whose size does not forbid a name.

If you are a glorious reservoir,

let me be that single drop of water

that wills you to spill your transforming magic

to turn individuals into communities and hearts

and barren fields into harvests and smiles.

If you are moonlight,

let me be a fire-fly speck of light

convincing you

that the stars often walk the earth at night.

If you are the breeze that heals,

let me be a whisper of acknowledgment.

If you are a voice,

then let the voice that is me

still resolve to speak its barren word.

If you are the unfolding of truth,

let me be a salience

that gives the unravelling a signature.

If you are love,

then let me be its tear drop and smile.

[From the collection 'Threads' shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2007]

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Ode to doubt

There are doubt monsoons

that fill heart-sky with fear-cloud;

and memory is not sun enough

and love, at times,

a poor wind:

the rain must fall

and fall and end.

It may destroy the floodgates

or yield harvest.

Either way, 

the heart must wait. 

For sun.

And rain.  

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Her eyes

(for a love now irrecoverable)

These circles of knowing
and portrayal,
have with eye-lid closed
and open
surveyed the to-be-seen
and hidden
and behind the un-revealing blankness
of gaze
there is temper
and healing.
It is a whip -- you lashes
and a fan that births indescribable perfumes.
Heaven Scent, I believe it is called.

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Nangi

(for my sister)

From dolls to babies

play houses to households

kids' plays to life-theatre,

trauma over crush

to marital anxiety

word to metaphor

bruised knees to wound without residence

slight intended and accidental

forced apology to remorse

rivalry to revelry

we were siblings and friends

unscripted and yet

an unfolding I would not edit

not with one word or stroke or

slice of silence.

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