A Poem From India

In Varanasi, vultures swoop; its legless beggars haunt my sleep; its pyres rise in my memory; a rat spins round my ankles in the shower; snakes glide silently in pipes, wind slime around me as I dream. I am the snakeman - I slough off old skin slough off the past. The dancing haunts me. The band beats drums; sounds pipes. I spin around, swirling like a dervish. I am lost. Her eyes burn through the darkness; I am drawn to her; her belly swings before me - jewels, bells: the knell that calls me; musk and sweat; garlic breath. She holds me close; too close..... An earing scrapes my cheek - draws blood..... Kathkhali masks; drums beating; I relive the frozen dance of love - trapped in a temple's frieze with donkeys, acrobatic girls, men smirking, gods in stone...... Morgal (14/2/94)

 

Poems copyright Morgal. Page put together by and copyright of Yobunny, 2000. Updated 2006