Posts Tagged ‘poems’

Those were days of struggle ; each leaf added to the tree. I waited each night, outside the trembling hut, waiting to see a lonely traveller in need of food or accommodation. “A man can sleep outside”, I remembered my mother’s voice when I initially started sleeping out, shaking and screaming at night in fear. That me doesn’t exist anymore. Of course, that mother too. Living alone, I had to fend for myself alone, but living-in all my life, I didn’t know the kind of work other men did. All I knew was to take care of the house and surroundings, to weave baskets out of wires, and to knit baby clothes. “What woman would like you?” my old mother would ask during her last days. I’d sit there like a good daughter-in-law, listening to the taunts at her husband’s home. Sadly, they expected me to bring a wife home. How do I tell them, that I’d rather be married off?

I’ll be starting a new series where I’d use a picture and a corresponding story excerpt of my own. Of course, the picture would be mine too. Please feel free to give me your responses

Myrrha

Posted: September 13, 2020 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

“When it rains it is broad daylight in my mind, Krsna, even in the dead of night. “

In another day he was your man, standing on a brick,
A lotus that bloomed out of the mud—
But so miry is love that it made a God out of your man and a seeker of alms out of the woman.
Irony is when he is lost upon references and she revered in each thought.

“Long have I admired her, dear man, O but how, Krsna, have I become her without knowing it.”

I have waited on bricks in vain, I have written love in a thousand hymns, all upon a name,
I have fallen without bleeding, I have wept without tears,
I have bathed his shadow with the best words lest he fears,
I have drawn colors out of winter,
I have stolen swaras out of the winds,
I have made ragas out of my womb,
I have tuned each drop of my blood to play his lyre.

“But listen, Krsna, not he, only she could tell me about the future—”

Not the God, but the barefooted lover.
Not the ranks but the cracked, blood-dried heels know the way out of this vyuha,

“But how would you know, Krsna, you only know how to destroy in order to make anew,
She created the universe out of your broken bits,
Even a toenail would become a shell, each shell an ocean.”

©nandinipradeep

Shade-less reds

Bring depth

As the Dead

Hearts Wept

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