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"...IN FORGETFUL SNOW..."
Flake by flake
Heaven falls
until its whiteness
covers all.
Angels guard
their dead.
All is quiet.
All is light.
Even marble flesh
feels the cold.
The dead have forgotten
Christmas.
A Christmas the angels
have never known.
A forgotten bicycle
half there-half not
looking like an art
installation
until it too succumbs
to the snow's will.
The silence slowly
erasing the world.
A raven perches
upon an angel's wing.
She pays it
no mind
gazing with sightless eyes
as land and sky become one.
Even the horizon is
being filled in.
The raven's
harsh voice.***
THE DUSK FOX
the fox acknowledges
with an imperceptible nod
the arrival of dusk
dusk and the fox
becoming one
entering the world of humans
the fox is busy
being a fox
stops: paw raised
the fox goes
in and out of
time
appearing now
disappearing as if
it had stepped out of the world
the dusk no longer
exists
night falls with my footfall
as if on cue
synchronised to time
and light
the fox stares at me
beyond me...I am
a walking shadow
the yellow street light
stains us for a moment
we vanish from each other
tomorrow sees
dusk and fox
keep the same appointment
only I
am absent
. . .***
HORSE OF A DIFFERENT COLOUR
Auden & Isherwood
strolling in China
trying to soak up
The War
by the process of
osmosis
staining it
with words
observe
(at first what seems)
green horses
but turns out to be
only white horses
painted green
for camouflage purposes.
That evening in Canton
also offering them
the futility of two men
trying to put a rat
into a bottle
a woman who lived
in a beehive
pouring water
into a sieve.
War knocks
over the inkwell
spills
into men’s lives
covers the white pages
of their wishes
makes the idea of Hell
...all too real.
The spilt ink eating
the words of men
who send letters home
and die in pain
never to return
only in other’s memories
& useless dreams
marble memorials
while green horses
champ the grasses
the bridles & the bits
clanking & glinting
in the hot sun
of Now.
as this last lost evening
dies.***
SILENCE IS FASTER GOING BACKWARDS
He stepped outside
of himself.
Closed the door
of reality
behind him
with a sharp short click.
"Where had the time gone?"
he asked of a mirror.
"There is no time here!"
answered the reflection.
"So this is...eternity?"
he heard his thought say.
He took another step
left behind this world of flesh.
Here, where
not even memory
***
NO MOON AT ALL
She cries because
there is no moon
in her window.
And can she sleep
with you and mummy
because....
there is a moon
in your window.
She drifts to sleep
in the harbour of our arms.
The moon asks
"Can I go now?"
I nod a yes.
Watch it tiptoe away.
Careful not to
wake her.***
Future posts include Lopa Banerjee, Kashiana Singh, Santosh Bakaya, Don Yorty, Daipayan Nair ( a feature on Tideling poems), and many others.
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