Voyage Poem by Sharmila Ray

Crossed legged on the floor
I open the first chapter on trade winds.
The warm fragrance of distant cities
and abandoned shells
waft over the loam of my being.
Before I know my eyes cut through
the twisting mist to the distant horizon.
Liquid notes of unheard melodies float by-
galleons, plazas and a fascinating time,
all freeze to take shape in a molten landscape.


On the other side you cannot
see the waves breaking against the cliff
nor hear the scraping of a broken scull
against the keel. You cannot even smell
the aloe, the cinnamon and clove
all floating in the cobalt water.


But I want you to do all these things.
I want to make you sit
on a rough sailcloth and
murmur words of love.
They would be hissing in the wind
like casurina leaves.
We would build a fire and
cook supper among the
green bracken and moss.


This is nakedness.
Perhaps…


As I reach you through
my word, my alphabet,
the alleys, the byways diminish.
And each sound of the keyboard
like a milestone recedes
taking me towards you.