notes

Shiva

My mind is rage; My soul is love,
My mind looks forward; My soul, above,
My mind is fear; My soul is joy,
My mind sees a threat; My soul sees a toy.
My mind interprets; My soul understands,
My mind, clenched fists; My soul, open hands,
My mind knows my soul; My soul knows my mind,
My mind takes control; My Soul knows it blind.
My mind is a horse; My soul pulls the reins,
My mind tries to bolt; My soul soothes its pain,
My mind is a child; lost in the dark;
My soul is a candle; my soul is a spark.
My mind starts to trust; My soul gently flies,
My mind starts to see; My soul it’s new eyes,
My mind will follow; My soul will lead,
My mind is at peace; My soul has been freed.

krishna

II slept when it rained yesterday
and today, my insomniac heart is bruised raw
with the blue of the morning.
I read the pages of November sky glistening
like the purwai-kissed cheeks of the dark one.
With my desires catching cold, after being let out in the open,
I leave the debate of metaphysics to the bees.
The dream is too ravishing to open these eyes
but he, who wanders in the forests,
tells me that dancing in the ruins of a dream
for too long slips poison in the gap
between I and I-lessness.
Once again I gargle with warm salt water
and spit out one moon after another
to empty my throat of the heat that spread throughout
after I drank the poison of eighty-four lakh lives
without hearing the sweet notes of his flute.
O beloved of the cosmos!
Tell me how will this frail infinitude
survive the violence of its own loveliness?
I have a small voice
and can only talk of small things.
I may be a fool but I'm not dead.
I dare the hours to peel me
until I remain no more than a cry of anguish,
burning in the fever of this cyclic malady of lives and deaths.
The hiss of dreams boiling at the border
separating an oblivion from another
no longer scares me.
Bewildered by his games,
I repeatedly jump into the same dream,
shedding faces after faces.
That elusive trickster!
It's a clear November morning
but I hunger to dislodge the moon
behind his ear and brush dark from his knotted curls before I'm tossed again
to suffer in the sea of forgetfulness and sleep.
. . . Notes:
Purwai: The Indian name for easterly wind
Dark one: The name of Lord Krishna in Hinduism means the dark one