I don’t know how to be
Anything other than this mouth
That you kissed. I don’t
Know how I’ll see
Anything other than
Your face. I wished
Once that I would be
Loved beyond love’s grace.
Now I don’t know how to be
Something less than this.
Author: Giti
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“If on a winter’s night”
They say the Grey Wolf
Brings hope with its return. They
Say, she brings clean
Waters, clear skies. That they mate
For life and kill to protect
Their own.
If the wolf were at my door, would I
Raise my hands to provide her prey
Ask for Spring my soul to save
Or step out and pray for the joy to dance
With the night and shiver
On a silvery howl. A giver
Of stars in the forests
Of chance.
“Ah love, let us be true to one another” – a love poem on the occasion of the Blood Moon of a lunar eclipse and a close encounter with Mars
If I said I was mad, would
You cast your face in my shadow?
If it were all I had, could you
Bring back the waters, inspire
And breathe back my madness
To me? If all about me, a sadness
Brought the War God into your arms
Would you stoke the storms with desire,
Ransom your blood to dawn?
If I were the sun that stole your light
Would you still dance with me under
Cover of night?
The Unhappy People
The unhappy people leave their beds
Neat. Covers flat. Corners straight.
It’s not like they would falter
In their aim when they throw
Early morning water into their eyes
To bring themselves awake.
If it were me or you, we’d never see
The crumpled sheet
The pillow askew
After all, the shoes we hurry on
Our impatient feet
Are used to having
something new
to wake up to.
Slivers
Sail me down
A river of moon
I could be a
Silver fish today.
Flash me through
A fire of blue, I
Could be bait for
Tunes, today.
Slow me down and sink me low
I could weep salt pearls today.
Write me a day and sing me away
Be my swing slung from a tree today,
Bound with trails and trellis of leaf
That I can hold when I want to pray..
To Name a Lost Sea
‘Kum’. A word meaning dry.
Today I read that the Aral Sea
(So vast a lake that its name was
More than it was meant to be)
Is a desert now. ‘Qum’,
Meaning sand. How quickly
We have changed water
To land. ‘Karakum’, a desert,
Held together by the Amu
And the Syr, rivers both, that fed
This now sanded earth. ‘Darya’,
A word from our childhoods, said
Most often, with ‘aansu’, or ‘daya’.
Let irony feed this reservoir of shame.
The AralKum is now a name.
Old ships litter dry harbours
Cliffs rise from dusty banks.
Camels rest in the shade of wrecks
Tracking the salt of the Aral’s tears.
Like sand in an hourglass,
Memory falls softly, speaking
Of starving nations fed
From the Sea. Now irony
Feeds this reservoir of shame
The AralKum is now a name.
Yellowstone
It seems at Yellowstone Park
The Earth’s crust is very thin.
If the world were to end, this
Is where it would begin. And
Just yesterday, they found there’s
More fire underneath than they
Thought. And it occurs to me that
No battle is as fiercely fought
As between the need for a thicker
Skin and the burn of fires within.
No peace more dearly bought.
Somewhere
There’s a place for us
Just as the song said there
Would be. A place for us
Where children and young ones
Will not see. A place
For the dry heave, the swift
Contortion of the face;
When the corners of the lips lift
In a sad grimace. Where
Strangers only are granted the grace
To witness sorrow and solitude
In their hurried embrace. A place
Where those who haven’t had
The time to grieve, are granted
Just there, a moment’s reprieve.
Simple Rhymes for Difficult Times
Peace be in your streets
Let no neighbour inspect
Your larder for its meats.
Let no man suspect
Your daughter of eyeing
Mates of other castes.
Peace be in your markets
As people shop between fasts.
May those who consider dyeing
Their cloths in other hues
Choose wisely amongst colours
While paying holy dues.
Peace be in your homes
Where reading stops at sundown
When hiding certain tomes
Means riding until run down.
Let no man be left slumped
On his doorstep, stained.
Let huddles of good folk disperse
Their blood lust undrained.
Let sunsets carry what reds
We need to light our days
And nations wave what flags
They must, and go their separate ways.
Peace be upon this city
That none need earn their pity.
Around Midnight
When the red gold sears
The desert sands of the skies
And the mountain rises
Like a mirage, mystic, promising
Water to the sailor, thirsting
For sandy shores. And the seas
Glitter and glow on dark beaches
Bringing treasure from the reaches
To strange lands where women
Watch from the rocks for seafarers
Washed ashore.
Giti Chandra 