[1] A carriage is waiting for you two white horses pulling at their reins to race the avenues burnished by evening sun

Viola! you enter the square laughter is jumping into the street from open windows. The clear laughter

Of a woman. You turn your head and look for the voice but the horses gain speed and like a dream

that vanishes as you open your eyes the laugh vanishes. You find yourself in an apple orchard and there stop

to hear the voice of a gradener coming closer and closer down the line of apple trees, singing.

---

2004:03:19 Words scribbled in reponse to Vega String Quartet's performance cycle of Beethoven's String Quartets

My Poems

A heap of gardenia petals on the table Passage of time into the billfold Of history, years creased with use. What survives is real. What is reality?

Dark clouds, juncos feeding, Hope for the years that are remaining,
Silvers of waves on a river swelling, And a man’s fingers dropping

One petal after another onto the floor.

My Poems

Dear Comrade,

Your words arrived, freeing themselves From the labyrinth called you. I had read somewhere that a woman’s Thought is as mysterious as the heart Of a sea. Perhaps I am making This up as I go, a nonsensical metaphor.

I had re learnt how to fashion metaphors - Out of stars, waves, Madonna floating In a boat of candles, a song in Spanish Hearing which a man and a woman Enter into each other’s arms as naturally as the wind Enters a bell and makes it ring -

On the faithful wheel of words this evening, Sitting at the feet of Don Pablo. You are a metaphor too, why for example I can allow you to stand for that evening When winter surfaced with sudden heat Forgetting its natural state or a mystery I occasionally attempt to fathom in my ignorance.

"And the truth?", I hear you ask. How should I answer? The finger that points to the moon is, sometimes, also yours!

Sashi

My Poems