Five Poems
The Shrine
The river left us mountains it could not erode
And a jasmine sky to hood a single candle,
In an arch of our mud wall doughnut shrine.
We climb, swaying the lantern through cacti and stones,
Smiting the soft weeds,
Holding up the light for the last climber
Past a row of nozzled earthen pots,
Our hands filled with ash.
This is the month of mourning.
The rain-oiled streets deserted,
A few tea-shops open for mourners,
Toys with rosebud garlands waiting,
A stone stairway lowers the shrine,
A handpump wringing the earth.
A black tide is breaking.
The women leave
But on crumpled sheets
Someone still weeps.
Moving House
Here’s uncluttered space
Measured for need
A divan where I used to dream
A cupboard that stacked and hung
Bed polished in ignorance
Rooms laughing an emptiness
Walls where I nailed my innards
A desk for nerves, breaths, beats
A clock that timed my movements.
Lights off one sees clearly
That borders etched on the dark
Curtail, contain need
Barbed wires
Bricks and mortar
Will toughen our nerves of steel.
Flare
Above, between spidery leaves, the blue
Whiteness of clouds; a slow continent moving
Nothing more than vapour casts a shadow
Deepening shades of light
Picking up what’s fading within us now –
Our quilt of torn sea gulls, half velvet smooth half shreds
Quickened to skinned cloth and gales of cotton
Threads hanging from your fingers
Your hand, a fat spider at work.
It’s coming fast, those staring eyes
You rocking yourself awake
Our days like leftovers –
The tablecloth gone, bedsheets, papers, files followed
Whatever could fly around the house delighted you
So much joy, like the sun bursting into our rooms
Like everything suddenly living
We were clouds, patched up continents; toes, fingers touching
A fragility holding up against so much energy.
Bankrupt
Having touched my darkness
Into which a painter dips his brush
And the loss from where a poet sings
Stay with me
like a ray
like the air
blaze
My carbon into flame.
But I am neither sun nor wind
I am woman
Spending energy
I change your element
You are what they see
Your worth, your value
Extinguishes me
lost the ray
blank like air
That fanned you into flame.
Played Out
Irate wave
Sighs over sand
Nothing to break
Reshma Aquil (1955–2012) was born in Allahabad, India. She was educated at St. Mary's Convent and later, at the University of Allahabad, where she received her M.A. and Ph.D. She went on to teach in the Department of English there, specialising in 19th century literature. Her first book of poetry, Sleeping Wind was published by Ethos in 2001. Later volumes were Shadows of Fire and The Unblending. Her poems have appeared in Poetry India: Voices of Many Worlds (British Council Division and the Poetry Society, India), Chandrabhaga, Kavya Bharti, Hudson Review, Tonight: An Anthology of World Love Poetry (The Poets' Printery, South Africa), Softblow, and The Literary Review.