Teesta Review: A Journal of Poetry, Volume 1, Number 1. May 2018. ISSN: 2581-7094
Water Is a Lesson
For
years I watched the river.
Its
opposite banks like pages of an open book,
never
closing.
Watched
the lone fisherman
alone
and adrift midstream
plagued
with hunger until the next catch.
The
shallow wooden boat owning his life.
If
there exists a constellation of pain
in
my veins,
then
it's the one that shimmers like light on water;
Here
now, gone the next,
gripping
darkness by the feet
in
murky depths.
Angling
for the warmth of sunlight
every
time breeze ruffles scars.
True
singularity
is
to row to the middle of the catchment
at
dawn, scan the horizon
see
fire sluice it's face with water
hear
the silence of fish
forget
that your feet shall ever touch
dry
land again
and
know that the hazel planks of a damp boat
are
all the ground you have.
The River at Dawn
--- Vinita Agrawal
wears
rippled fans of orange and pink
a gift
from the eastern skies.
Transparent,
free of lust, it looks like how you'd like to look;
absolved
from the haze of violet that fills up dreams.
It
dazzles behind the diaphanous curtain of morning fog
gleams
inside out, traps diamond crystals in fluid curls
buries
deep the traces of sadness from the night
wears
an expanse of velvety silence
like
someone who has much to say but doesn't.
It
barely lips the serene shores
its
touch, though as fleeting as the blink of an eye,
rescues
the hit leech buried in mud, the fly trapped beneath a stone.
It
keeps afloat the ashes of love showered from cremation urns
and
if you care to look, even the name of the loved one -
-
scratched on water in sunlight 's slanting hand
glinting
gently at one who sits folded on its banks assimilating loss.
It
asks no questions about the lost moon - a light lost in light.
Just
witnesses its daytime flow and sparkles upright.
Knows
that the journey really, is inwards.
That
floating and sinking are states of mind
and
that when it finally meets the sea
it
will be full and empty at the same time.
Sky Stream
The
sky slides into the stream
In
a moment of perfect stillness
In
return, waters cup heavens in their hands
and
dawn in their ripples
A
soft melody eases out of a new sunrise
and
melts Ladakh's waters.
I
am without dark thoughts
this
clear shellac morning.
For
once in my life I am without questions;
my
whiteness sealed with answers.
Prayers
stitched to tides of waters
lighten
my bones.
Names
etched on ageless pebbles speak
that
this is full circle - womb to deliverance.