The Gathering of Time
(a response to Kalidasa's Rithusamharam)
Spring
I open the window:
From under the sky’s ribbon
treetops surge into my eyes.
Breezes empty me of dreams
that were drowsy with bees.
Calls shoot through shade and daylight,
through pollen and rustle.
Among the voices,
is one of them yours?
Summer
Burnt sky, burnt earth, burnt water
surround me. Burnt hopes too.
You’re right:
Time has charred me.
See what I’ve become:
The stretched sand of a riverbed
too hot to walk upon,
and this breeze --
from a phoenix’s wings.
Rain
Once
there was no horizon.
Sky and earth mingled
in a womb of rain
as you entered me.
Now I lie alone.
My vision clear.
My body rich with memories
of passing showers.
Early Autumn
What you say is true:
Autumn approaches.
Leaves turn and fall.
There’s a chill in the air.
But the sky is clearest
after it’s washed with rain.
Stars shine brightest
in this season.
I’m no different.
Hemanta / Harvest
Ripeness
falls to earth.
My skin darkens and dries.
My body’s work is done.
Seeds have scattered
to no purpose.
It’s time to shut my eyes,
to turn the glance inward
to the sparely-lit limens
of tomorrows.
This is no time for you.
It’s time for my freedom.
Sisira - the Season of Dew/ Winter
The descent of whiteness:
More an emotion than a colour,
more a resolve than an emotion,
it’s a vast unknown.
Into this bleach
I must will myself to enter.
Will myself to not long
for colour but wrap
myself in its subtle shadings,
white on more white.
Once I longed
for your thousand hands on my body,
and for your shoulder to rest on.
It had its beauty.
I now long for myself
and for light
on white.