Apsaras*
For over three years worth
of sun-drunk mornings,
marinaded
in aromas of sashlick sauce,
Sabathra unknowingly
serenaded
the space between our
dreamtimes and our
wakeful days
dripping bright saris across
sharp North Easterlies, she
plucked
her washing lines
like sitar strings, cast
tremulous
quavers over the
moss-cushioned wall
fluttering,
like a moon-moth swarm
through the corona of gas cookers
leaning
tusk-white in the yard
now,
as we make plans to leave,
a terrain of snails,
a cloud of gulls
and a cuckoo
appear upon a chain of
hiccups
and squirrels lured
from secreting snacks
for the end of summer,
join the conference
to listen to the lilt of
her seedsong
stir
the toxic fur
of stinging nettles
and the crumpled petals
of pink purslane
that sway
around the teacrates
stamped
with the rogue elephant
of......PERTAGBHUR
all this before
the slithering strains
invade the open window
of this rented womb,
where pale fruits grow
and the earth inhales,
where contractions collide,
fish surface and dive
in the patterns of the shagpile,
drunk on sunshine
and sashlick sauce...
to soothe the woes
of samsara
Sabathra spins a web of
Vishnu’s sutras
from a Bollywood flick
and sends Englishness adrift
in a riptide of djinns,
paperchasing
chipstained headlines
around the off-licence
litter bin
from the depths
of pillowed plans
memories of avatars
rise in a wave
across vast lunar scapes,
to where I sit
on the bed
with fatherhood beckoning
while a lotus flower sprouts
from my navel
tone deaf
to the threats
of diasporic Raksasha**,
I hear the devotions of pigeons,
tumbling from heaven
as sacks of soft hope
stuffed with seraphim feathers
see a turtle crawl
from the shadows of the door
belly sore
and shell shocked
from the weight
of its world
a wild boar
wrecks the wardrobe,
a lion-man and a dwarf
climb the walls,
looking to escape
incarnations on the wheel,
weary of fighting demons,
they sigh...
just once,
let old pacts lie
let us sleep
the deep river
of primordial tears
as the alarm clock’s bleep
stabilises space n’ time
visions scatter
back to their eeries
in the wellspring
of dharma
and you,
beloved, curled - becoming
earthed beneath the quilt
turn in your sleep
from the kick
inside.
*Hindu mythology is rich in tales of Apsaras - guardian spirits, celestial singers and keepers of the sacred dances.
**Raksasha - hostile forces and malign spirits/demons.
Page(s) 86-88
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