Journal : Diary Rhythms

Extremities, In Between

[ These are ‘ Diary Rhythms’ from another age. But I perceive that nothing has changed.]


The sunset reflects the day
Casting blood in the west :

They walk in file, load on padded crowns
Eying the feet ahead, to pace and drown
Steps, stepping on steps…

In silence

Stop on cue
To tilt their heads

And throw the damned pile off

Sitting light on disdain

In a jerk practiced

To scorn the Fates.

The thud loud is but without relief
Prompts the humour best

Calls in beauty

Of the body

On its return vicious

And in thought cool

To more of it

For these tribes women

I leave my soul

So, like the forest people, may I be

Free at heart while bound still.

*     *    *        *  *  *        ***

A kid asleep is pulled up sudden
By the hair, jsmacked hard then…

Horror of horrors, the eight corners fill
With the lad’s terror, howling screams
As if he’d woke up without his limbs
Or watched a ghost face in slow-twist

Trembling, traumatised by Dracula king.
*     *    *        *  *  *        ***
Nothing soothes …
Questions terminate on own failings
Spirit voluting in harsh rhythms …
Looking now at men addicted to sodomy
Their curious, gullible or bored victims !

They bend to offer to ego lord
Hum and shriek to ecstasy sad

Harnessed to inadequacy…
Curled in defeat

Impressions bloody
Too weak to strike

Angry, surging …

Unsought beauty, joy disused
Potential latent, sleeping muse …

The options are clear

In soft breeze
And shimmer rustling

Off sesame leaves.

*     *    *        *  *  *        ***

Sunlight pours on choking humidity …

I curse behind the squint

As inflaming sweat trickles

Into the eye…
It makes me yearn of cool drafts

Of the winter months

Of romance filled days

Deep yellow mottles

And nights under a warm quilt

Content with happy dreams.

And now, walking the streets

I rush, imagine

A pick-axe in hand

To kill the burning sun.

Anything, any… I mutter

But that fiery presence !
The damned heat exhausts

Blasts off indoor walls
Into hair, clothes, water and air
And this very body

I am off again

To lie bare in mango grove
In its shade and breeze

That quiet shore …

It comes back then

As matter of course
The night frozen

That morning cold
With a chit in pocket for rail patrol
To identify myself, just in case

I was dead before the sun rose

Famished, dying

Feverish, curled up

On my own shivers

And a bleak platform
The last train since long gone
Leaving the lone

Moonlit soul

Stretched, deserted

Breathing half and losing slow …

I feel and know the heat now
Know and feel the freeze

And how !
Think yet of pleasant mid-day sun
An afternoon open and summer fun …

Feel and know, know and feel
The insufferable extremes
Sweet and sour in between
This power overwhelming me

How do I find and tread the path
In the middle

The wise mean ?
Must I bite the apple to spur on
To ‘nother knowledge on the brink ?

Till the fruit is known once more
Through shattered balance

And restoring chores !

*     *    *        *  *  *        ***


I’ve had enough of the fruit, I say
One day …

The facts impressed integrate

In me, the self, free in itself
Knows meanings widely spread
Over space, cultures, time scales
In these tip-of-the-iceberg appearance

Of forms, names and relevance
To desires imagined

Real and apparent.

Bang !

Now I tread the middle way
With this perspective, seated at apex
Awake to all perceived

As hearsay !


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