So clandestinely does
the night sketch the night,
like the fingers of darkness
entwining those of the shadows
...
one day
you turn a fisherman
and sail out to the sea.
you gather rubies and pearls
...
The dusty door
Spreads her legs
And welcomes her inside.
The roots of thirst
...
Blue is not the colour, nor is snowy- white or sun-licked grey.
I paint the sky with water.
The tear.
The colour of solitude brewing in the eyes of a half-dead widow
...
Aash Ashitha is a journalist in Bangalore, India. She writes poems in Malayalam and English. Translations of her poems have been published in English in Raed Leaf-India journal and in German in Street Voice journal. She has a collection of short stories to her credit in Malayalam. Her translation of ‘Mohanaswamy’, a collection of stories by Kannada writer Vasudhendra, was recently published by DC Books, Kerala. One of her poems was featured in the journal brought out by the Bangalore Litfest)
Reading The Night
So clandestinely does
the night sketch the night,
like the fingers of darkness
entwining those of the shadows
caressing so intimately that
one becomes the other.
some stealthy lines
drawn on the inner paths
forking in separation
touching or un-touching.
some specks of light
perceived or un-perceived.
some dark forebodings
of a fall or of death.
mining the secrets of the dark
should be a meditative act
like all robes unravelled
from the body which then
weaves itself on its nude self.
night should be made love to
so intensely as a couple
raining by themselves
kissing again and again
the drops of sweat
dripping from the bodies
seized by ecstasy.
night is a poem
written by a woman
with her head bowed
while black serpents
slither along her tresses
to be read only by those homes
that have turned insomniac.