This fire of the summer evening,

if it glows like burnished gold

in faces of strange women,

what light must play on Her face!

The koel's song with plaintive notes,

if it pierces like a spear

the hearts of those who are strangers to love,

how deep its wound in My heart!

A quilled evening

Summer clouds gather and gossip

Sordid secrets of a sultry sea.

Wanton wind wanders mad

in search of sweet petrichor.

Golden trees gasp in eternal pain.

Mute Atlases holding up the primal silence.

Dulcet evening smears her golden glow

on every stranger's beautiful face.

Sultry sweat trickles down

flirting with the breeze and skin.

Dusty roads raise dusky sighs

fading into empty footsteps.

All of this stays painted still

in the ripples of my quill.

The Lady Afloat

I sat once upon the mute stone
that stares cold by the river bank
I sat ere the sun had shone
hailing a day so morbid dank

I sat in hush in deathly still
I saw the pale moon softly die
I saw those empty hours fill
the chasm of an undead sky

Then a dawn; a pallid dawn
of feeble rays with fading glow
Casting charnel shapes upon
the dying mist's fervid brow

And with that light of dreary gloom
She came in like a painted boat
A flower faded in its bloom
Asleep in death a lady afloat

Her nightly hair was led astray
By wanton weeds in the water gray
Her closed eyes they seemed to say
'Alas this is my only way'

Her breasts did swell with tears unshed
Of silent grief of hidden shame
And a thousand pains that love hath fed
To a thousand souls that have no name

What vow unkept what heart was broke
What vile soul did play deceit
What word delivered that deadly stroke
that crushed her heart with dreams so sweet

Perhaps he died a hero's death
in battle that waged in lands unseen
Perhaps he fell in foreign earth
ere she could count moons sixteen

Did she give her heart in vain
to some Adonis set in stone?
Did he tell her in words so plain
that his heart was his alone?

I stare as the hours rolled
She drifts so still like a painted boat
Her tale of woe stays untold
She fades away the lady afloat

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.