She may spread like air Reluctant to be embraced She may heave like a song Sung ceaselessly Resonating through wilderness She may exude like fiery fire Flaring far and wide Let her choose her way Let her wade away The wayward woman! Unwilling to be defined.
I A part of me often goes back to those girlie days When I defined life a little differently Truth changes its colour when I relive those nebulous moments in the wake of clarity That’s when my blurry vision reveals power... The power of thoughts to distain distant reality. II I was an ordinary girl living around mundane events Perhaps born to procreate, do purposeless chores And die on a day realizing that I was indeed alive That’s when world would celebrate the true meaning of womanhood caged by my body; defined by power... The power of a man sketched by his desires. III I am a woman born a million times, from extinction My story is not for sale, with spice and violence I am the reverberation from history’s silence Reborn on fiery spring days, hewing legacy with no ideals While the cosmos fills me with power... The power of the creator to Be Complete.
When you ask me, “who are you”
Do you want to know a bit more of the sand
That spread in me from the backyard
After the river overflew to hug me
but later retracted with a bit of my soul?
When you ask me, “who are you”
Do you want to know a bit more of the song
Infused in me from the coucal’s trill
After the jackals barked in the dark
Shooing the birdie with a bit of my spirit?
When you ask me, “who are you”
Do you want to know a bit more of the sky
That draped me with the endless horizon
After the grass beneath and the stars above
swelled the vastness of my cracked heart?
To fathom me is to sway with my shadow
Feel the breath of my spring, frost of my winter
get drenched in my torrential rains,
taste the nectar of my fuzzy newness
and forever be lit by the ash of my burning star.
On many of those winter nights
I wish to see your breath on the stained glass
imagining the warmth of ease, instead
I get the familiar instant message
explaining the shades of your chase.
Sometimes you surprise me, when
you occasionally hold my palm
that reassures the existence of a bond
and a scent of cigar enters my dream
altering the plot, for good.
Between the reality of the bright day
and the romantic dream after dark
our life sails defying the rubrics
There is no pause to this play, even
to frame a well-captured moment.
I penned all that flowed in a hurry A painful production, artlessly logged Purposeless and plain… What are words without psyche and soul? Asked my curious mind… Wandering aimlessly for a few seconds… I erased the ellipses Warding off the fragmentary thoughts A chain of familiar symbols stretched wide Gaiting on the ramp with poise Commas remained grounded, Pausing for a little breath But when inverted, hung like a ‘dangling’ Exclaiming elite attention! Colon clearing its throat announced: “I’d introduce my buddies and their roles” Braces embraced each one (detailing their names, definitions, pronunciation and etymology) “Left-brained analysts with a long list!” “I got to pause; this is never-ending” Remarked semi colon, impatiently Elated, I looked at my words, lines – adorned with pretty brooches With distinctive rhythm and life Newfangled characters told my story the way it should be Full point rushed to mark a dot. It knew; this was the end. --------------------------------
As the invisible COVID swallows up the world
We see death in disguise, looming
Is our ephemeral character called back?
When the End casts its darkest shadow
we dramatically see Life’s light
We struggle to break despair’s shackles
that deadbolt our lives down
We are playing hangman and guessing a word
From an unwritten chapter of life
Remember, every crucial move delays the noose.
Something about this air makes me poignant Or perhaps too familiar to be endured… Those decades-old hollow eyes still stare at me Elapsed past that smell of stingy rags, Blood stains and cold logs of human bodies Reflecting chilling horrors of the holocaust. Something about this air smells like my home I may be a gypsy, Jew, gay or communist I hear marching steps pounding, looming Mounting tension, loud weak heart throbs Ghastly commands in the greyish-blue vicinity And black clouds ready to bomb. Something about this air creates the autumn of 1943 Leaves fall yellow, brown, dreary and dry The cries of the camp prisoners go silent My parched pink lips unable to pray Wonder where the God fled, allowing To wipe a nation’s history, hearts and hope. Something about this air near the ashen memorial Cries out loud the unheard stories of the souls of sorrow Of my wounded homeland and shattered dreams. As I let myself blend with the background The church bells ring in melancholic unison Orchestrating the slides of a miserable memoir.
Setting: An autumn of 1943, during holocaust in Germany.
Night crawls in like the strings of violin playing raag Bhairav slowly, with thoughts of you filling like rain in my parched mind. I let you fill my emptiness with worthless conversations. I start flowing around you we become seamless, nameless The rhythm of darkness spreads swelling the tempo of our hearts You are my moon, enticing, and I dance like high tides on the shore till the drowsy eyes of dawn incite the drowned hours, my forlorn face, and this piece of poetry.
Wait, before you turn my blood blue,
I hear him…
Or was that you gently rubbing your slithery skin on my silk?
Black beauty! Bite into my bleak body
Through my skin, my shadow, my spirit, my soul!
The wild dance has begun!
Your chilliness against my warmth
The entangled helix, tightening
Mysterious madness sweeping my skin
Flashing deep pain
Sigh!
Brightness… Blindness…
I lose myself…
I set my thoughts free
from those existential clutches
I shade my dreams with lively hues
I hear your heart;
I hear secrets;
I hear questions;
My life is the answer!
*****************************
© Suma K Gopal
You told me once that my eyes pierced your heart
I didn’t wait to ask you how deep
I didn’t know that it cut and bled
But on a dark cloudy evening
When I lay naked with an unfulfilled dull ache
I noticed the bruise on my bust
Distinctly spread like your face.
Are you still there where I left…?
When the way of the world was weird!
You didn’t ask me why
Nor did I see the lovelight in your eyes
When your kisses caressed my hair
The breeze under the banyan tree misled me
Tapping gently on my nape
Thoughts about you make me less composed
And this obscure bruise and unhealed wounds
Make me pale under the blood red moon
Will you kiss my famishing torso?
And turn me sanguine in a trice
I would then lie in lulling languor
Weaving whimsical stained glass dreams
I keep my fane emptied and open
Fragrant fumes of incense inviting
When all are gone that now linger
And the only slaver is the delicate dust
Will you come as a respiting embrace?
To kindle my timorous lips with a song
Sung by the secret prophet of time
For, age hasn’t doused my amber eyes
Nor the flames of my soul!
© Suma K Gopal
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