The eyes' wind 2010

THE EYES’ WIND

She was reduced to a mere body
as the eyes’ winds roamed round her
in stormy whirls.
Many kinds of eyes,
green, blue, yellow, black,
pierced her like arrows,
like time’s hurtful gestures.
The arrows of eyes flew past
the salt of her sweat
to lodge in every hair follicle.
Hairs stood up in the transparency of the wind
and fought, like soldiers.

2010-poems

MOTHER

Her hair touched her knee,
a waterfall.
I divided it into nine
and gave a name to each plait.
Then nine muses appeared from them,
nine goddesses of art.

My mother was a seer,
poet and prophet.
She went on weaving
words and lines
into a kerchief as large as the sky.

Then one day
she turned into a spiral statue
and fell silent.
Or was she silenced?
Who buried the truths?
Mother’s pyre
follows me even to this day:
That hair
divided into nine plaits
twists round and strangles me.

JOURNEYS

The shadow of words
the shadow of lines
luminous cells that
look for colours within the shadows
The shadow of the body
spoke to me
about its journeys
into the Himalayan valleys
to become transparent,
to attain transcendence.
Each nerve turned onto a river,
a road that flows.

Is the body no more than a vehicle
for the spirit’s journeys?

THE EYES’ WIND

She was reduced to a mere body
as the eyes’ winds roamed round her
in stormy whirls.
Many kinds of eyes,
green, blue, yellow, black,
pierced her like arrows,
like time’s hurtful gestures.
The arrows of eyes flew past
the salt of her sweat
to lodge in every hair follicle.
Hairs stood up in the transparency of the wind
and fought, like soldiers.

2009 POEMS

BUBBLES

Yesterday words became colours

and spread across my canvas.

Flesh, marrow, brain,

everything came up in spasms

from the inner core of my being

and burst as bubbles of gold.

They filled the canvas

as hues and lines and stanzas.

Bubbles, rainbow-hued,

dancing in the breeze.

Even touch is forbidden here

and the speed kept in check

so that they don’t swell

to become storms.

Ready to burst at a finger’s touch,

choking with colours,

within the short-lived beauty

of this little universe.

BETWEEN THE

SKY AND THE EARTH

Between the sky

and the earth,

a huge desert.

Millions of undelivered souls

roaming about

to the rhythm

of nature’s breath.

THE RIVER OF FIRE

A wild fire spreading across this heart,

A flooded river welling up in these eyes:

Can you feel me burning

in this river of fire?

LAUGHTER : A HAIKU

Between one laughter

And another

A man"s life-span

THE THIRD ROOM

Which is bigger,

the heart or the brain?

Until yesterday I had slept

Inside heart’s warm walls.

The rooms of the brain

are too narrow:

I choke inside them.

Trying to sleep in them

is like being in a coffin.

A third room

beyond the heart and the brain:

In that intense space

of the intuitive self:

art, nature, prophecy.

echos of this day

This day..
colours burning bright...
fire of bright colours...

licks every part of my body.

To fotget the traumas
of the past, the ship wrecked life
of yesterdays
a tight rope walk..
between sanity and lunacy.

I recollect...

the broken pieces of canvases,

where stormy relationships were...

interwined and trapped.

This day...

canvas and colours.

and strong strokes -

violently fornicate

and sigh...