an art or revolt?
Oh how aged are
the sobs
that you carry within
you?
The chronology
of memoirs
in which human
souls stroll;
The pictures you
painted with
ancient myths;
An anonymous
voice from somewhere
asks “why you are
in chronic grief?”
It spreads like a
shooting pain
from deep within.
You are the sole
witness to all the
lust, passion
and orgasmic
ecstasies;
Life drenched
in dreams
withers on the way side.
As you mutely
chant vedic mantras
they turn into a collage
of true life portraits
A breeze gives wings
to the broken pieces
of the past
The grief of the
sundown turns
into immortal
temptations of
existence
dried up by oceans.
The distressing repetition
of romantic images;
You always flee;
your journey itself
is your doom;
Your entire words are
just statutes of beauty
which helps you to hide
from haunting
alphabets;
Are you putting
out the fire of
our sexual passions?
They were just within
our grasp,
but shattered
during the sky-splitting
festival fireworks
Why are you silent
even to miserable
lovebirds like
the two of us?
The voluminous
glossary
and depressing
color schemes
in your silence;
Are they your
creative self or not?
Why do you
gather strands of darkness
and bring them back always?
What is there
in your eyes?
Are they
monuments
of beauty
demolished
by history?
Are you letting your
silence devour the
agony and ecstasy
of others?
Oh sunset why are
you knitting
the night clouds
Will you lend
your garments
to cover my nudity?
The paddy fields
celebrate your gloom.
Are you packing off those
who lost their
smiles in the streets
blanketed by blood
An axe is heading
towards you;
Are you going to hide
once again in the echoing
spiritual hymns
mounting from within
the temple walls?
Who accompanies you
in the journey across
unknown galaxies?
Birds or bird flights?
trans:saj mathews
