Saturday, July 25, 2009

India

India

I did not fail to see your shroud cover my hands,
like a mother greeting a son with garlands.
What was this light you possessed
that guided me out of the dark,
wheeled my thoughts in navy blue, tendered
my voice, and spiraled into a dance?

The hands holding up invisible walls,
carried my sail to streams untouched.
Hands that fenced passions and cushioned
the blows each time I fell.

Chant a bhajan melody while the fingers
of my right hand form a crown lotus soaring
in mid air. My left hand imitates
a wave caught in the vortex of fate.
My eyes look away from physical forms
as if all the toiling in the fields
had set them on fire in celebration.

Clattering kartals accompanied
by humming drones, and chiming manjiras,
sitars and nals, complete the circle swaying
rhythms in perfection. Why do you till my eyes
in your fields of saffron?


© Sergio A. Ortiz 2008

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