Tuesday, June 29, 2010


What is there to regret?
In my thresh wrecked hut
There was never a door, nor a window.
You walked in,
Took a seat,
Resting your head on my shoulder
You sang a song,
Your tears wetted my violin.
And very quietly...

As if we told a fairy tale to each other
With pure intimacy.

the Ancient Stones

Like the night, falls an ancient stone ;
Rolling across the villages and the valleys.
Spreading its roots at the threshold of a temple,
The temple of sun and the gods of all arts.
Erecting the majestic gateway of civilization…

The ships of Babylon are anchored there
Brought by the wings of the flying cranes
A murmuring crowd steps up on the stone.

A multitude of men
With bag full of words;
Crowd in the markets
Dealing in bustling tales

The world shrivels up into the womb,
And devoured into Mayadevi’s dream
Where moaning are condensed into a fossil

On the ends of my fingers
Numerous eyes have sprouted like grass
Running them through, I can see
Manuscripts of Dilbar Dosai

Embracing the towering pillars
That reach beyond the sky
I hear the Yakshi of Sanchi,
And her melodious lullaby.

Extending my palms I gather
Rain drops on plantain leaves.
A fear of the wilderness
Advancing like a mighty stream
Instilled by the monsoons

Lumps of flesh
From my heart
Crumble into the flowing stream
And the wide field is devastated
Where the bones of my ancestors germinates

My love and earth…
For numerous time I have lost my memory
And from the crux of the stone
I have excavated repetitively /insistently/persistently
Hanging them all around
I create the art of the primitives.

Here, it’s all yours, everything I leave behind
My eyes, my voice, my hands.
Piling one on another you will build
Palace, bridge, dam, roads and harbor

With your touch you will see
The faint tune from far
In a kiss you will find the abandoned road
Covered with tall grass.