Descent. Stars, clouds, mist, dew. I fall.
Walk into the familiar. The tree in the leaf, the flourishing of green under the seasons. Menakshe. Me.She. The narrowing down, to find the first stammering word...sparse, pared down, the singular. The sound of your re-entry into the world. the grey skies over, cast their spell. the mystery of a name, re-emerging. you find yourself. the days of deep light and dark shade. too much history floating in the clouds. you look down, small steps. for a stone no-one has tread on...
a sudden breeze picks up, an hospitable gust from a great distance. spent forces, ghostlike. it brushes through a cloud, and delivers a few splotches of rain before my feet, displacing the dust. your heart dry, remembers, imagines a word. the river/we cannot cross/ flows forever. time herself would not flow, reverse. the swami hugged me. my brow unfurrowed. little r cried.
descent/dissent. down, to your self. surround your soul with words, and stolen glimmerings.the Lord of boundaries opens His doors again. a golden chain of light links us. outside & inside my house: i live in the day, with no time to know another.
The silence is vast
I am still and wander
Keeping you in mind
There is never enough
Time to know another.
---Menashe.
Walk into the familiar. The tree in the leaf, the flourishing of green under the seasons. Menakshe. Me.She. The narrowing down, to find the first stammering word...sparse, pared down, the singular. The sound of your re-entry into the world. the grey skies over, cast their spell. the mystery of a name, re-emerging. you find yourself. the days of deep light and dark shade. too much history floating in the clouds. you look down, small steps. for a stone no-one has tread on...
a sudden breeze picks up, an hospitable gust from a great distance. spent forces, ghostlike. it brushes through a cloud, and delivers a few splotches of rain before my feet, displacing the dust. your heart dry, remembers, imagines a word. the river/we cannot cross/ flows forever. time herself would not flow, reverse. the swami hugged me. my brow unfurrowed. little r cried.
descent/dissent. down, to your self. surround your soul with words, and stolen glimmerings.the Lord of boundaries opens His doors again. a golden chain of light links us. outside & inside my house: i live in the day, with no time to know another.
The silence is vast
I am still and wander
Keeping you in mind
There is never enough
Time to know another.
---Menashe.
2 comments:
too much history floating in the clouds. you look down, small steps. for a stone no-one has tread on...
how often i feel like this too. too much history, indeed, and no one can know another. imagining and longing seems to be all we have. even the longing for silence can never be fulfilled. but hey, these are too dark thoughts for a saturday morning, what are you doing to me? :-)
why did little r cry? give her a hug from me!
zzz (that would be a saturday morning bird at my window :-)
er..gosh, i thought these thoughts weren't dark at all! just the usual pretentious rubbish, actually.
but yes, or maybe no. for there is also 'presence' and light and chains as well...it's just that it is always accompanied by shade.
i love that line from menashe: unfurrowed brow. there's something biblical, psalm-like in his quiet, small-scale, simple poetry.
little r is very possessive so she doesn't like it when other people hug me.
hello!
:-)
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