.....Death is so mediocre, any fool can achieve It effortlessly. For those such as me the awful
Vulgarities of the final rites are not Quite right, the slow unwrapping of the carcass, The many paltry, human details that must disgust The esthete, the flabby thigh, the breasts that sag, The surgery scar, yes, it would indeed be Of no bloody use believing in my soul's Poise when the paid marauders strip me of that Last unbleached shroud and ready me for the fire. Like an elephant not bidding goodbye while Taking off for that secret edge of forests Where they slope into a sure but invisible Sea, I shall go too in silence leaving not Even a finger print on this crowded earth, Carrying away my bird-in-flight voice and The hundred misunderstandings that destroyed My alliances with you and you and you .... from GATHERED GRACE (An Anthology of Indian Verse in English) On May 31, 11:40 am, Abdul Rasheed <[email protected]> wrote: > *Three Poems from Nine Indian Women Poets* > > The Dance of the Eunuchs (from *Summer in Calcutta*) > > It was hot, so hot, before the eunuchs came > To dance, wide skirts going round and round, cymbals > Richly clashing, and anklets jingling, jingling > Jingling... Beneath the fiery gulmohur, with > Long braids flying, dark eyes flashing, they danced and > They dance, oh, they danced till they bled... There were green > Tattoos on their cheeks, jasmines in their hair, some > Were dark and some were almost fair. Their voices > Were harsh, their songs melancholy; they sang of > Lovers dying and or children left unborn.... > Some beat their drums; others beat their sorry breasts > And wailed, and writhed in vacant ecstasy. They > Were thin in limbs and dry; like half-burnt logs from > Funeral pyres, a drought and a rottenness > Were in each of them. Even the crows were so > Silent on trees, and the children wide-eyed, still; > All were watching these poor creatures' convulsions > The sky crackled then, thunder came, and lightning > And rain, a meagre rain that smelt of dust in > Attics and the urine of lizards and mice.... > > The Maggots (from *The Descendants*) > > At sunset, on the river ban, Krishna > Loved her for the last time and left... > > That night in her husband's arms, Radha felt > So dead that he asked, What is wrong, > Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said, > No, not at all, but thought, What is > It to the corpse if the maggots nip? > > The Stone Age (from *The Old Playhouse and Other Poems*) > > Fond husband, ancient settler in the mind, > Old fat spider, weaving webs of bewilderment, > Be kind. You turn me into a bird of stone, a granite > Dove, you build round me a shabby room, > And stroke my pitted face absent-mindedly while > You read. With loud talk you bruise my pre-morning sleep, > You stick a finger into my dreaming eye. And > Yet, on daydreams, strong men cast their shadows, they sink > Like white suns in the swell of my Dravidian blood, > Secretly flow the drains beneath sacred cities. > When you leave, I drive my blue battered car > Along the bluer sea. I run up the forty > Noisy steps to knock at another's door. > Though peep-holes, the neighbours watch, > they watch me come > And go like rain. Ask me, everybody, ask me > What he sees in me, ask me why he is called a lion, > A libertine, ask me why his hand sways like a hooded snake > Before it clasps my pubis. Ask me why like > A great tree, felled, he slumps against my breasts, > And sleeps. Ask me why life is short and love is > Shorter still, ask me what is bliss and what its price.... --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Green Youth Movement" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected] To unsubscribe from this group, send email to [email protected] For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/greenyouth?hl=en-GB -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
