Revolution

She stands like the ripe grain

bathed in harvest sunlight

a golden smile dancing with the wind;

approaches at dusk

moving like the shadow of the hills

to take me into the night.

And my love is like water

now gushing down river

now halted at the gates

now spilling over

swirling around her feet

and disappearing underground

with monsoon-flight.

My love is a breeze

heaving sighs across valley

touching cheek

in the ‘cannot stay’ way;

and my love

is also the arc of the sickle

a dull pounding

separating grain from husk,

it is like the earth

keeping watch

drawing all things into its bosom.

[From the collection 'Epistles: 1984-1996']

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