Aliens And Expatriates Poem by A. Jayaprakash Jayaprakash Panicker

Afar from this arid zone
I write to you once again
Myriad of moods keep merging
I don’t know where to begin.

When the eyes are aimed at some
The rest of the world is void.
When the mid is anchored at some
The rest is what but empty.

I fail to see things around
I fail to see things afar
I fail to see things within
I fail simply seeing you

Never day here marches to day
Nor a day marches toward night
Nights are wet and warm
Like my eyes, and days dull.

Myriad of moods keep merging,
I don’t know where to begin,
Still, I write to you once again
From this distant arid zone.

Did our Neems start bearing
Did our almonds start withering?
To whom does that thug wind intimate
The warmth and scent of those mountain laps?

The vine and bees there play hide and seek
Cloud and mountains mate and mirth
Winded wind, going places, willow sands
As thorns and bushes grumble their stay?

Vine squires, veiled like private beds.
Seemed getting studded by breaking drops.
They did alternate, like columns
In a chess distinctly in front of us.

When December visits there
Tell her I still love here.
When December bids you bye
Tell yourself I adore you.

Tell our bees, tell your birds
Tell our vines, tell our weeds
Tell our wind and our sands,
We love them still as ours.

Our sheep, their herds
We ourselves their shepherds,
They must be getting scattered
like patches of cloud in evening skies.

True December never drops in here
True spring never passes this way
Here no winter, autumn neither,
But only summer, December to December.

Did I begin dear somewhere in between
Or should I start it all over again?
Myriad of moods keep merging
I do not know where to begin.

It's your thoughts that keep me afloat
In the sea of sands and heat
Your words make my prayers here
In this void hopeless and rut.

Expatriate I am
You are my home
In between us are
The shortest of voyages.

If ever our hands share
If ever our minds merge,
If ever our senses vent,
I would prefer to drain that day.

December dews
That filled your robes
The soggy sun flower
That turned gray at you,

The sand dunes on the way
The fret on your feet
Gentle breeze
That got lost on your hears

The curly hairs
Like fibres of incense smoke
That kept musing in your ears
Our private words

The thick and soft plaits of your garb
That dovetailed down your middle,
And all that unseen fortunes
Hallucinate me I dream.

The white line of little beads that your smiles may make
Like silver rills rolled and droned you abreast
And got pale and disappeared in the middle,
All; mingle my moods, where to stop.

You seem one day blue, the other day blonde.
One day glowing, another day blushed,
As if a candle is held close, at sun down,
To a girl who just felt the touch of teen.

How many sleeps you have spoiled?
How many dreams you have fed me with?
How many times you have woken me up?
Don’t know, how long you’d it all these.

Last, my sleep spreads its bed over me
While you lashes lull and fan.
And as they put my sleep to deep deep dreams
By that little bed of life, I would abandon my days.

Written on march 3,1993.