Sunday, July 29, 2012
To Shivah. (after Karraikal Ammaiyar and Akka Mahadevi)
If he is blue, then that is the color of freedom.
Tie me in tongues, that only speak of him and
His every breath is impressed upon me,
In shreds of lilacs and moth’s skin.
In the lap of a brimming lily,
Oozing electric blue, under a storming sky,
Adorned with gold.
He will embrace me and make me forget,
What I have been longing.
My body has only known trouble. The only thing it has learned.
It must burn to be complete
and every morning,
Flames gossip with each other : He is waiting.
He never shows his face,
When my eyes are closed and
She, who has seen him through,
Rain and pyre smoke,
Shares no secrets with me.
I run amok with her…
She greets me with a fluorescent tooth and shows
Me a meadow of skulls.
Stroking her anklets, a huge lotus shoots through the earth.
Splashes of wet earth, her molten flesh.
He is rising over the clouds and
Shamelessly, licking this impatience.
Is crisper than the summer sun. It’s redder than a womb.
She told me that he has splayed his tresses over mountains,
Rivers and even the oceans.
He is made of acrid evenings. After rain showers. Over a paddy field.
His touch. His touch, is what we have waited for
If it demands us to be stripped and rode on streets,
We offer our charring bodies with delight,
To be inflamed on his toes.