To Angela (concluded)

Death-song for Angela

Wind-chariots of love

white or melting beneath the skin,

stations lost in midnight peace or rebellion,

Wild storm beneath your gown

and the crazy, green silence

of lonely hospital rooms

Angela,

stay a while here with me

in this land of pink and sleep.

Violin in your sleep,

softly we stand,

our fingers quietly kissing in sand and light.

I could be your little orange town

as you summon a magi in sleep,

I could be your dream.

A town in the skies,

all the roads here lead to sleep,

and little paraffin birds spread out their wings

in water and dreams.

White eyes among nude petals

thirst for the fragile beak of the sky,

your lips carve music in the clouds.

Once again,

our lips will waltz in touch

as I hold you in me

in this city of love.

Angela,

You shall touch me again

in love or sleep,

as the piano will find a beat

along the wounded strings of your heart.

Touch and angel lust,

your voice wild across the winter night

in my blue telephone,

Won’t you touch my lips

with a song or a kiss?

Won’t you cry,

my mad rain lover?

Blue sea-horses diving in your eyes,

fortissimo in your breast,

we lie down and shiver

beneath the porcupine breath of the sky.

Your eyes in my eyes,

your kisses fractured along the liquid, orange throat

of the lemonade evening,

here we are, lying down

amidst the sound and the city

in our little, paper-boat across the skies.

Glory of harmony in your starry laughter,

wet roses in your molten copper voice,

my finger runs along the wild black waves of your hair

like Neptune’s seas.

Beauty in the piano land,

mist and lovers beside the river,

your lips travel time

and spill ancient folklore of love.

Send me the fragrance of your breath

and some quatrains hidden in snow

as we remember old men leaning out of windows

in the December sun.

Death beside the ocean

in the purple carriage of winter,

your body worn in time and beauty

will sway like a wild flower in last ecstasy.

Dear Angela, my love,

the moon in her white gown, shall not know

what it is to wan inside a lover’s last sigh;

while the trees, the wind and light

will a build an epitaph for our kiss.

Our hands entwined in love,

our clocks melting down our thighs,

the rainbow will give rise to a new time.

Our faces and naked touch returning

to the soul of brown God

in the white lanes of sleep

leading to Brahma’s feet.

White sheets, white unslept pillows, white feet

and white song of parakeets rising like war

in this afternoon air of silence and radiance.

Your letters are little holy ruins

that make monuments for the ants

in rain; your voice anoints with joy

Aurora’s glowing horses of dawn.

Last smoke in your eyes,

last smoke from the chimneys of earth,

the last song for my fingers.

Amidst this love,

this ambrosial lust for lilies

and music from the stars

the song of vultures on earth

and specimens of slow, brown decay,

Angela,

I must leave you again

amidst the poem and tower

in the clouds,

amidst the elves and white lanes of sleep,

my fingers still stroking

the wild sitar in your eyes at sunset.

Let our love run through valleys in sleep,

like bloodstreams through the harmonica.

Let our death-song come to an end

in this land of camphor and blue.

An evening in mercury

- For B


(A sequel to 'Parting at Park Street')



-1-


you’re standing by the window;
insomnia


you hear
the soft breath of the city
entangled in winter mist


inhale the silence
inside the heart of the swollen river,


and feel the pulse
of the broken sky
throb with flickering thoughts


as the city slides
on fragments
between a poem
and sleep


-2-


what are the women doing
in the rain?


draped in thunder
and songs,


as my fingers
lick the silence,
exploring the ruins
of her sari


why does the bed
smell of lost lovers?


-3-


nights of prayers
and sweat,


as we exchanged glances
in the taxi on the VIP


talking in fits and starts
or polite whispers


and you kept complaining
that it was getting late
but the traffic kept us waiting


your thoughts in a dream
and the rim of your skirt
on my naked toes,


I savoured every second
of the uneasy silence


-4-


rain girl,
it’s been nine winters


since I left you standing alone
at the crossroads
in Park Street


and I have lost your touch
inside the catacombs
of this fragile city


I always expected
one last letter,
but I never really bothered
to look for it


-5-


dance of the moon
in the embrace of the river,


the bridge swings
in tension with secrets


the night once again
talks of uncertainties


as lonely streets
drunk with mercury lamps
recede in the mirror


and melt
in the voyeur of smoke


I succumb
to the meaning
of touch


-6-


staring through the blinds,
you strain to detect
the last traces of sound


those sad evanescent whispers
from sleepy apartments
as stars sulk on the horizon


one by one
you count the lights,
as they go out


inside the ebony spaces
of this dead city


and you know
it’s your turn now

Parting at Park Street

"In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michaelangelo"

-T S Eliot


-1-


9:30 pm in Park Street,
goodnight


the shadows spy with furtive looks….


the shadows spin
beneath the street lights
and create a sonata in smoke


is this the way
it should all end?


is this the way
we should part
and promise to stay apart
till death brings us together again?


-2-


rain girl,
I’m walking away
all alone into the night


beneath the storm
and glass doors in the wind,


let’s travel the night
through stallion dreams

your dreams to my dreams
to our dreams……


and dice our destiny
on a board of chess


-3-


riding in a bus
that moves through sound
and time,


I discover
barren gypsy men


men who carry bombs
in their songs,


and songs
trapped inside glass coffins
in the rain


as the pendulum melts
at the refractive points
in my poem


-4-


rain girl,
you are sleeping in snow
beneath the September moon


rain girl,
where is your dream?


‘I have lost my dream
to my heart!’


rain girl,
where is your heart?


‘I have lost my heart
to a man!’


rain girl,
where is your man?


‘I have lost my man
to another girl!’


-5-


rain girl,
let’s hide the evening
in a kiss and sandpaper


together again,
let’s sail in moonshine
along the Ganges


on the banks of Kolkata


when the buildings rise
like stone serpents
or policemen walk in sleep


and the ash
of a few smoked cigars
builds a Romeo in silence


let’s drive all night again
along those yellow streets
of vapour


glancing
at the rain-stained windows
and remembering Eliot’s verses


-6-


a waiter comes to me
with a neck-tie
and a breakfast of bones


the necklace in blue
throbs in my wet coat pocket


rain girl,
I’m still standing alone
at the crossing tonight


waiting
for the lights to change