Six feet

Image copyright Vibina Narayan

Soft light whispers into the forgotten corners

Overlooking shadows and secrets laying bare in the middle.

The moon cradles the night in her wistful arms

As you cradle mine, in your made to believe strong.

And all that remains,

is this momentum and space

between our condensed breath heavy with the magnitude of now,

Skin denuded of pride and satin we never bought.

Pulse stroked in the labile hands of time

Held like a pearl, dived deep, hard to catch.

The oyster of your world presents the song of your heart.

This bed I wish to sleep on, the sea of your life, (for the rest of mine)-

On a raft, a plank or may you call it my home.

I inhale in selfish lungfuls of all the dispersed wishes- stray and not

And forage to trap all the stars beneath the veined veils of thick eyelids-

Those carrying dreams and not.

Praying to slip into the burrow of you, skeleton and soul through.

Six feet, deep and under and more.

Six feet, beyond and wide and whole.

Kanmani (Creation)

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She held her palms open on a blue,

blue day, while the sky poured open

in honour of her mind.

A wistful grey cloud lay out beyond.

The cracking whip of a thunder and

cold whispers, tore into the

Nodes of her guileless heart.

She sought for answers amidst

What she grew to never be her own.

The damp air reaffirmed what she

never thought would have.

And there lay, like a curveball, even before

It’s life began, a hatched young lifeless bird,

The membrane of its creation, holding

every untold story of it, in her skin.

Pale, opaque beak that almost formed to sing and shut eyes that almost opened to forage,

Thin filaments of wings, that would

One day be strong to fly away, far away,

And beat the strongest of winds, up to ascension.

Though now, here it lay, in her hands, pointless, waiting to be salvaged into the earth,

That has brought all of us here.

She threw a piece of her heart, and trowelled

a lump of mud heavier than her breathe, and

Placed this lithe creation, which was here,

If only for a drop in the expanse of time,

A few inches deeper into the circle of life.

And as her praying hands buried the esse,

As deftly as she does with her dreams,

The ritual of love gave away, the embers,

The tears wrung from tired eyes, called

Another mother, who perched on the

highest branch and cooed away all the hope

She held in herself, once upon a time,

and sang a solemn requiem,

for her soul below.

Apple Blossoms

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Shine on bright little ones

In the garden of 

The month of May.

You sweet little lillies

Of apples- crisp and green

That will ooze tangy sugar 

to coat my tongue 

a dream,

with or without cinnamon

in pies bearing the colour 

of autumn and the

cheer of being together 

again.

Until then, my visit beckons

the endless charm of

your white blossoms.

Smiling at me from sunshine,

preening on my  hazy thoughts

this fleeting moment

as short as my time here.

Your bowls that will shrink to 

form the fruits of my joy

In the garden of

The month of May.

Cemaes Bay

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The sun has cast a magical spell

Over the Cemaes Bay.

The lambs shudder in their

Ironical coat of dismay.

The sea sings a tune of conundrum

A lullaby of dreams far away.

Whispers of rain cling to the

Windows and doorways as

The grey waves usher in the

Palliative joy to a

Heart that lay splayed.

Stones are thrown to awaken the

Limbo of a mind in fray.

Sway, sway, curtains of crystals.

Move away to the beaming sun rays.

The wind ha caught the eye of the

Meadow and my lover today.

My eyes have seen the pinecones

in their branches

Still and snuggled and

Nestled in their hay.

And they will never

Look back again.

Flames – Orange Poppies

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I am fascinated by Georgia O’Keefe’s paintings. Sensual portrayal of flowers is indeed the essence of art for me and in a way observing the birth of life on this earth. I try to photograph flowers in my own humble way, inspired by her work which those who know will know.

 

Just sharing a few lines of my own poetry here tonight. Hope you enjoy!

 

Woman

Woman.

Like an instrument.

Play her right

She is a melody to the ears.

Play her wrong

She is a nuisance to all.

And if you don’t know how to play her

Don’t bother keeping her.

A thing of beauty,

A joy forever.

Untouched and unowned.

Unaffected and unmaligned.

Lump of Flesh

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Lump of flesh,

Adhered to fabric that connects

And disconnects

Not like the skin, yet second skin.

 

Lump of flesh,

It moves apparently

And sometimes forgets

Like a killing notion, it breathes.

 

Lump of flesh,

Leaping into a pool of love.

And like a cliffhanger orgasm

Left suspended and detached,

Between reality and the alternate

Felt inside.

 

Lump of flesh,

Oh enough with this!

It perceives its joints, juices,

Holes and moles- and realises

It’s a piece meant for pawn

On a dead man’s table.