certain aches I have whose name is tilak-kamod
some such memories that are sindhu bhairavi
like jaijavanti many cracks remain in the interior walls
some hurting wounds in being one
yeman kalyan.
knowing to play sarod would have been very good.
how the purusha weeps only he knows.
in the carpet dressed beloved inner chamber water has entered.
shipwrecks at every instant, oppositional crafts afloat.
where drowns the septa-boat of all the earth’s loving
there blossoms a lotus like a woman.
water laughs on the bangled arm of waterness.
in the snake-bite of the ghagra, circling like a dancer,
all it snatches, all snatches then refills
with lotus fragrance, vast field, in the flute-hollowed reed of the heart.
this delectable destruction, this champa colored whitewash on the rusty door hinges,
Is this what is called darbari kanara?
knowing to play sarod would have been salutary.
how the purusha stays alive only he knows.
PhD > Writing, Consciousness, Arts, Translations
