Sindoor
I sit on the banks of Benares
with Sant Kabir in my lap
breathing the ancient scriptures.
The air settles in moist colours
of marigold desires.
My soul is smeared with sindoor
where the gaze of his eyes had fallen;
a tilak of divine love makes me pious,
not tainted, my friend.
The Lost Moon
Perfectly carved crescent, not
an inch of error in my stencil.
I blink and unconsciously lose it.
I searched around but could not trace.
Where did it go? Not under the
table nor in my pile of papers.
Dear moon, you are more
comfortable in the dark than
in light, so you hide.
Sigh! Not desiring to carve again
I leave the canvas moonless today.
Later in dreamland, I saw my friend
holding the moon in his hand.
I let him keep it and smile in my sleep
in the knowing, he is awakening.
Kajal
How do I pray, and to whom?
I no longer remember the rituals.
I no longer adhere to any culture.
My family, my name, I know not.
I only know my beloved’s eyes.
Therein my home resides. Even if
those eyes no longer look at me,
I am lost forever in their depth.
They make me forget the earthly
rules, and I meditate on his name.
My beloved will one day open
his chrysalis eyelids to liberate me.
But my beloved is playful.
He wants to keep me captive.
If he frees me, with whom
will he play aankhmicholi?
He feigns indifference
to my presence in his eyes.
Then we see through each
other’s merged consciousness.
I no longer apply kajal in my eyes lest
my pinkie finger spills our divine secret.
Glossary:
aankhmicholi: hide and seek
