Beloved, these mountains are my brothers
They are the sins which confine my breath
These mountains do not know mercy
Unless you satiate them with virgin water
Drawn from the frail bosom of my widowed earth
Beloved, yesterday we went up to the hills
There my grandfather’s spirit rode on fire
Drawing angry glances from the hungry rocks
There you can buy happiness from the crying stones
With the offering of rain and the earth
Beloved how many pilgrimages do we live?
How many births do we take
In the span of our unholy love?
Only the mossy remains of our fiery lust
Hold the barren answer
buy happiness from the crying stones
ReplyDeletenice..
pilgrimages do we live?
very gud.....we generally dont think of pilgrimages being lived...
gud poem.....the repetition of the 'beloevd' motif links ur poems..ds n d ones dt hv come before....d only thing is...may b u cud see to it that the poems dont seem too similar to one another..may b a diferent word4beloved sometimes ..? ...
n yes,.. mossy remains of our fiery lust...........
remains of our fiery lust...moss? or ash? or do u mean mossy ash?the 'saai' that remains after the firewood is burnt??
i loved d opening a great deal...