This Play

in the pilgrims’ parking lot

a patch of  emaciated earth

is poignantly dark with pus

blood and swarms of common house flies

an eviscerated ‘hairless’ mongrel

drools on at the midday foothill sun

with singed eyes

I look up

at your matted burnt hair

now haloed by this sun

in this sun’s light

your trident glints northward

snakes hiss and are hot and salivate

muted tom-toms dance on the river mother

can you comprehend this play of pain

with your incredibly sad eyelids and so

is this your intense prayer of joy

                 

                     *

I grant that you give me this blood and pus

kill me or make me whole again

in this afternoon so absolute

when your skinned tiger

grins beneath your haunches

your sun reddens

urchins fish for pilgrims’ pennies

and geese fly formation

from the mountains to the plains

your uncomprehending myriads

fearfully light torches

and festivals of incense and camphor

in boats made of dry leaves

lined with rose petals perfumed and dead

which the mother river bears

then exuberates and swallows

and inexorably dances on

to bells in a cacophony of panic

your temples are my food and drink

your monks my vassals

your path my mountain

your worship is my joy

so

‘kill me or make me whole again’                                     printable

Coming Back

we are now approaching New Delhi station

send the car to the east exit

with so many marriage processions

it will take an hour to be home

                         *

I told you about that bridge

from beneath which the river has walked away

and crows’ feet on white afternoon sand

punctured white-water rafts laid out to dry

                        *

the hotel was by this dry river bed

called ‘moon-ran-away’

or ‘moon-destined’

or just moon shaped

                         

                         *

they have planted poplar on the crown

good cash crop

they probably make cigarette paper

with the pulp

        

                         *

the girls all wear navy blue cardigans

and go to school on bicycles

and yellow beaked black geese

fly formation into the setting sun

                          *

we are at the platform now

my bag is so light

I don’t need a porter

thank god for cellular phones

that protect us from ourselves

                               *

turn the key in the front door lock

and take your pills

don’t wait up                                                                                  printable

Second Love Poem

mustard flowers

entangled in your tangled hair

we pass through fields not ours

but

it is about the catching of the sun

shining on life’s villages

these morning roads

in programs

parrot green against red sandstone

from the turret of which

the muezzin will call

to acres and acres

of yellow mustard flowers

you will bathe your head in yellow mustard

in the early morning

you will hear the sun fall                                                                                   printable