I float upon this galaxy
Like a single lotus leaf
Ripples of despondency,
You showered upon my palms
Like endless drops of rain
But my palms were much too small to hold you.
You were the mirror;
And I saw myself reflected upon you.
Come my child,
Let me caress your comatosed self
For the last time;
Let me press my ears upon your body,
You brushed like a receding wave -
Leaving imprints upon my sand ribs,
Like shells embedded upon the shore;
You can see the horizon partly with a single eye.
You can see the horizon completely with both eyes.
Our connecting filament
Is like a cobweb
That stretches from one tree to another
Brushing aside thick, rustling foliage,
I shuffled through critical ordeals,
Amidst obscurities in a black forest,
Following a ray,
You who created the spring
Created winter too.
You who created the rainforests
The day I picked up a peacock’s plume
And painted the clouds in the orchid colours -
I borrowed from heaven’s palette,
I felt you were right there holding the brush with me
Every time I close my eyes
A white owl flies by,
Across the blue firmament
In cloudy daylight.
I saw a white lotus bursting open
To shoot out another white lotus from within,
Which blossomed to emerge yet another.
Against an expansive green wall
Of finely pruned foliage,
I saw myself standing all alone
At the bend of a metal road,
This morning I saw a crow -
At its reflection upon the mirror;
Trying in futility
How Poetry Pours
When tearful emotions brim
Like boiling milk from a pot,
Poetry pours like incessant showers
And inebriates the senses.