Kamala Das Poems
|1.||The Testing Of The Sirens||3/28/2012|
|2.||The Stone Age||3/28/2012|
|6.||The Sunshine Cat||3/28/2012|
|9.||The Dance Of The Eunuchs||3/28/2012|
|14.||Punishment In Kindergarten||3/28/2012|
|15.||A Losing Battle||3/28/2012|
|16.||The Old Playhouse||3/28/2012|
|17.||Summer In Calcutta||3/28/2012|
|21.||The Looking Glass||3/28/2012|
|22.||My Grandmother's House||3/28/2012|
This love older than I by myriad
Saddened centuries was once a prayer
In his bones that made them grow in years of
Adolescence to this favored height; yes,
It was my desire that made him male
And beautiful, so that when at last we
Met, to believe that once I knew not his
Form, his quiet touch, or the blind kindness
Of his lips was hard indeed. Betray me?
Yes, he can, but never physically
Only with words that curl their limbs at
Touch of air and die with metallic sighs.
Why care I for their quick sterile sting, while
My body's wisdom tells and tells ...
I don't know politics but I know the names
Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.
I amIndian, very brown, born inMalabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
Don't write in English, they said, English is
Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,