Ithaca

O Ithaca, fair Ithaca when will I see
Your gold hemmed coast skirting the sea
Where Poseidon rests his wrath asleep
Where mermaids gambol, frolic and leap

O Ithaca, fair Ithaca farthest out to sea
When will I rove like the wind free
kissing with lust your ears of corn
drink from your streams and be reborn?

When will I ravish your bountiful groves?
Delve and hunt through your delightful coves
Impale wild beasts with my steady spear
Your sighs whispered by the wind in my ear

When will I drink the crimson wine
aged sweet in thine secret shrine
When will I gaze on thy endless skies
as they blush in brazen sunrise

When will I suck your nectar raw
from golden buds that spring did thaw
When will my plough with oxen pair
Till your fertile fields laid bare

When will I slake my thirst ablaze
in yonder stream that runs and plays?
When will I lie sated in joy
and yet hunger, for you do not cloy?

When will I sleep a dreamless sleep
one that thy breast's lilt alone keep
When will I wake to thy doting smile
sans base cunning sans beguile

O Ithaca, fair Ithaca should I not see
Your gold hemmed coast skirting the sea
Inter my lust my love in thy breast
And death would be than life so blest

Lost

Where is that river

that flew swift, unfettered

in a stream of crystal eternally

towards the ocean's infinity?

Where is that song

that rang clear, unabashed

clad in naked innocence

setting flight to notes of truth?

Where have I come

in my own countless journeys

that my bare feet

are stranger to their beloved land?

Worship

A thousand times I wet my head

with water from the holy rivers.

My silken robes ply softly

folds of purity tucked in my body.

With steady hands I draw

your sacred marks of graveyard ash.

The lamp glows calm

A golden drop, the conscious' shine

Your fragrance swells and overflows

as my breathing slows of its own will.

I chant the chants with utmost care

wincing at every word that comes imperfect.

The water flows unburdened

nectar it is, nectar flows.

And yet my Father...

Sans effort that yellow flower

has reached your feet already.

Orphaned Words

I pray to you my love;

Free these orphaned words of mine.

They come to your world,

innocent and blind

with no hand to hold.

Protect them, my Goddess;

From the viles of reason.

Let them not pursue ideals,

truths and praise,

for their weak feet will tire soon.

Bind them not, my Goddess;

In harsh fetters of grammar.

Let them not be stifled with craft,

genius and order,

for they have no discipline.

Free them, my Love;

Set them on a song, light and gentle.

Let them play in the sand,

dust and the streets,

for they can amount to nothing more.

Bless them, my Love;

So that they may sing

of your dark face like the mango leaf

your smile like the jasmine

for that will be their salvation.

Let them go no further My Love,

but just sing of you,

your home by the river under the mango tree

Of evenings, gilded sunsets,

of birds returning home

then...

fade gently into your night.

Portrait

Dusk's sun glows mellow

Your face yielding nascent smile

Who paints this eve gold?

Passion

Bent

drooping with lust wanton

Soft

heaving with desire brazen

Sweat

running like the river in abandon

Sighs

heavy like thunder distant

Hands

gripped firmly on shoulders

the cloud made love to the mountain.

Tamil

Solace

Life, a fickle companion

runs and strolls

one step ahead

one step behind.

I close my eyes

and breathe some in

breathe some out

life hides somewhere between the two.

T'wixt this perfumed garden

of bleeding roses and silent jasmines

of cold ivory and nectar fruits

of lilting flute and lotus eyes

T'wixt this raging fire

of burning passion and placid peace

of heartfelt love and wanton sin

of flaming heat and slain ashes

One thought runs soft

a refuge, a familiar nest

"All life's thralls shall fade soft

When death my love seals her kiss"