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Dancing
devils
Among
the hills of rhododendron
the deer were barking as we were made
and our destinies shaped.
Decayed
wood and iron stones, white marble
like broken bones were churned with ghost stories
stalking, tadpoles staring, misty clouds, and mountain air.
Under
the mulberry tree we stained our skins,
the plum tree flowered sour sins, at the trailside
we ate burnt bread, tangerines smiled and hillsides bled.
Then
there was the thunder day and night,
rainbows in hair and blackbirds in flight,
daredevils spinning, starlight streaming.
And
rocks that fell and plants that smelled
loomed about us as we were told of men on stars
Aragorn's sword glinted in Middle Earth wars.
What
else was there? The slug and its eggs,
earthworms dead. Kite flying high, bamboo fur
itching and walnut's deep brown on jeans.
Rhododendrons
flowered and hillsides slept,
white priests smiled and children wept
beneath blue-green mountains as we were made
the deer were barking as our destinies shaped.
Fire
and ashes II
August 12, 1995
As
we walked upon frost bent grass,
did you inhale fungus spores?
And white blossoms that drooped heavy,
did you notice,
they smelled of death.
Berries,
in so many tight bunches, so red.
The light. The sunlight. The morning light.
Do you remember how I ran
to capture those colors?
And on hills you noticed green hope.
There
was that Ganesh shrine nearby,
snout towards the Himalayas,
eyes so beady gazing where his father danced –
except thorn had built a curtain, a living veil,
between him and his parent.
A memory
of headache
sunlight bright
vodka by woodstove,
vomit stinking in tent, yours.
These
ghosts walk about me
on the meadow where the sages were
two thousand years ago.
They, too, like us, watched fires burn
and the morning dawn,
they, too, saw our colors.
Flames fly now
not as an offering to the gods
but in an effort to make Rara noodles dance.
Armymen with rifles are gone
they were afraid we would set fires to bushes.
and fires, fires, fires,
spreading like you in my mind
would take the meadow grass like never before.
You
straddled me in the sun yesterday
in that shelterless meadow.
The clearing,
just me and you on our knees,
that place is there still.
The
tent forever like blue fire
eats into the browns,
greens, and the autumn.
We should be there today, every day,
forever, like pilgrims,
back at the same clearing,
in each other's arms.
Back to early memories,
dark alleys, dim restaurants, arguments.
Like pilgrims.
With
you this evening
Stagnant
Something's growing
Inside.
Options
Or places to go
Play with that
Its life.
Lake
of waters I found
you lived within
Water flows now.
The green is less night
The air more bright
Its sky.
There.
A splash out of still water.
A glint. eye hurt before fall.
Everything deep green again.
Close
a few fears
Know you belong
Look back, its past together
Room filled with light sun light
air blow almost a wind, papers fly
Hope yours, not mine
Uncontrolled
Open joy yours, its laughter
all your time.
Fear
within myself
of what will come
Child
almost
mine
Born
today,
I know you.
Hold you in my arms.
Fragile. Knowing anything can happen.
The
storm
It's
a wither storm
it takes me.
i flow
skip a few waves
and fail to float.
waters
in ears
i hear
your silence
your
nothing
reaches me.
i drown
to be
where you go
where you will be
tomorrow
its
a wither storm
it will pass. sure.
a smoke
of memory above water
and love goes with life
phone
must be loud
on your side
I fear to make the sound
through
water I see
flesh red. on you.
i live
with the color
a little while.
The
death of Capt. Limbu
The
last time I died,
I died with you.
My
grasp on life
so firm,
the rope went wrong.
As
I fell
I reached out, made an effort,
tried to rise.
Thought
of a lover
to whom I must apologize.
My children,
I want to watch them rise,
fly above clouds,
in winter, by starlight.
So
I take these bubbles of living
gently
and once in a while,
no matter how careful I am,
life explodes.
I am surprised by the sound of death.
I find myself willing
the bubble to go on reflecting.
Sometimes
I make an ending,
kill the colors,
the browns tire me out.
The hopes of the sky
and the brightness of flowers
are more than my heart can handle.
The
thirteenth time life exploded,
I left behind no loose ends.
The books, I read them for the sixth time.
The flowerpots,
their 30-rupee worlds,
were occupied.
But
the day I died with you,
the air left me disturbed.
My
hold on life
was not enough.
I'm
not satisfied.
Earth
and sun
On
the fields of pain that I am to die
You are my garden. You forever will be.
I take off shirt – shivering,
it's winter dew morning.
My hair on grass, bare skin on grass.
Feel me shaking.
Face
down, a piece of earth.
The earth I taste, I taste your earth
brown stains tongue – front teeth,
roof of mouth earthy.
I taste the sun in earth.
Feel my skin. I am shaking.
Against
sky – red flowers.
i am child. breaking stems
sipping nectar. I am child
again in the fields of pain
in your garden. Where are friends.
Why do they also not sip nectar with me?
See
on floor, snake berries,
their small red bellies.
"it's poison," dead aunt speaks.
I pick out one and another
In mouth, their skin breaks –
Bland water spreads
there is no poison.
Just the taste of earth and sun
in your garden.
Walk
softly
Walk
softly,
you might dirty the floor
I have taken
so much pains to clean.
Beathe
softly,
your breath
might trigger a storm.
Speak
softly,
the echoes might disturb
my resting thoughts.
Do
not allow
your teeth to enter your smile,
their gleam might dazzle and blind
the ideas that have just hatched.
And
please leave softly,
the noise of your footsteps
might drown the reasons
for your coming.
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COLLECTIBLES