Approaching Mother and Daughter
With the customary jealousy I would feel
Toward the creator of some perfect thing,
I stand at the threshold of the room in Which you are bent over our little egg-
Head, (who is already full of vexing Questions – is this comeuppance for
What we, in turn, did to our parents?) Humming, as you nudge her to hold
Still, as the comb in your hand rustles Through her jet black hair (O! this I
Fell in love with first, before anything when You rose towards me from that market crowd),
And wonder about that someone, who will Descend from the hills, to bear our locus
Of sight away, and spill this dark light, which You are now methodically braiding, all over his
White bed, just as I first loosened your jasmine Scented plait, overcome with desire and love.
Notes: You gaff a sudden image, which in a conversation suddenly lights a sulfur match in the aorta, and sends a spark coursing down wintry blood. Outside as thin rain drips from the eaves into pots of herbs – to grow flowers one needs a feminine presence inside one’s house or oneself – at the front door, you check for the presence of this image in the catalogue of images you loosely hold in a musty drawer standing in your back-skull.
Yes, it has been put there already a few times – first the faces are those of your mother and sister, which then sift into those of a woman who no longer loves you and whom you no longer love, and then finally of these two whom you must now conjure, love, and write about to feel nearly human again.
My Poems
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Comments Elsewhere
[1] My pins to the map.
My terrible literary habit began when I was given a paperback copy (Indian Thought) of R.K.Narayan's "Swami and Friends" about 17 years ago, off the stacks of Wheeler's at Vishakapatnam Railway Station by my father. This tattred and yellowing ( for me 'debut' too, as it was for Narayan) novel is now held between two pieces of cardboard and secured very carefully in my bookshelves! Wheeler's, in whatever railway station they operate, usually do have an interesting selection of random good books. On a recent yatra to Hyderabad, I found V.S.Naipual's "A Turn In The South" at these folks - I had never read it, even though I currently live in south-east U.S., the subject of that travelouge!
in response to Kitabkhana's Reading in Ranchi
[2] Indian Trains
I was thinking of you and your cities (Dublin of Joyce, London, Bombay etc) as I was reading this review ( www.nytimes.com ) last night.
Also this post made me remember a school-yard nemisis (against whom I had to do battle for a few years to satisfy my parents craving that I be "Class First") who could recite the names of each railway station on South Central & Southern Railway. Besides it seems to me that this identiy of being "Indian" is to be able to instantly recall the smell of those 'bogies' (boogeys?) of yore.
Do post further notes on your Indian yatra.
in response to Dejavu's Notes
My Daily Notes
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Excavation -Après Trois Ans
It also occured to me, just now, that Buoyantville has been around for three years and ten days now.
What will archaeologists find if they ever dig in here?
My Daily Notes
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