Bodies pass far too many times
And smells evaporate too soon.
Earth goes interminably like sea.

On shore, an old light house
Is all cracked up in laughter.

I run my fever by a lovely sea,
Behind my sad-assed balcony .

(On reading John Mansfield’s poem “Sea Fever”)

 

Who find no use for living crows.

Both dead turtles and live crows
Find no use for the dead flowers

And  stuffed likeness of the god
We worshiped  the previous day.

Everything fades, even the sea.
Imagination fades in the glass

Where the lips move to mutter
And mutter fades behind time.

Walking in beach crowd,
You pass through men’s

Edges while they yours,
But not through bodies

Toward food and drink,
On beach as waves rise.

Here walks man’s edge.
An elegy rides his belly.

And can no more guide ships.

Now old ,retired and defunct,

Hear its tales in  wind on top.

Women needle an old sun,
 Sitting at dead submarine.

A ship in sea digs sunlight
 To lay it out on the beach.

Sea turns the soul sticky
 Like the dear one’s loss.

Turtle lies dead on sand,
A shell emptied by crows.

Some men are of no bodies
 But light’s shadows at dawn

A few are silhouettes at sea
 Gaining into its inner heart.

Threatening to bloom darkness.

While we await the doctor's call
We look for angels in the glass

Who will bring us  glad tidings
And comfort of God in heaven.

Crows grow dark by their deeds,
 Emptying the turtles of contents

After trapped in fish men’s nets.
 They turn red in tooth and claw.

They are shy of  sea near sky
And its beach that washes up

A dead turtle and  sea- snake

Crows grapple with on beach.

But actually they land on  sill
To peep inside at satellite TV

In which exotic forest's  birds
Chirp their songs on channel.

I am composed of red earth
That rises to blue-green sky

I am composed of  blue sea
An empty sky ,a red fat mud .

I decompose as a fine dust,
A sea's lather at  dying sun.

 Boy dives to probe  sea's inside.

So many are  colours displayed

On face it can see with no eyes

Their own resplendence by sun
Turns pure-white plastic pearls

That may not be much interest,
By carcasses of passing turtles.

( A boy drowns in the sea celebrating Holi the festival of colours)

Night's crows turn less dark
With rocks more glistening.

Men look made up in boats
Bodiless actors  in a drama.

They stand in heart of light
Stealing the light from fish.

A temporary pool quivers,
With its broken sky inside.
It has a poet in his pieces.

It is a sea's image in rock
When a  moment is made
Each time sea hits a rock.

(Remembering Hilda Doolittle's poem The Pool)

Water sploshed in coconut skull,
As we shook head to empty sky.

Now we live near the sea where
We do not know sea from a sky.

We are old and dry ,not knowing
The shape of the water to come.

My  sea is a water and brine,
 White as a moon lather walk.

Blood  is my sun on the boil,
 Every morning high on a sea.

Now I see  blood in my eyes,
 Waiting for it to enter its sea.

Behind balcony window glass.

Our windows rattled like shells
Clanking in a shell seller' s bag

After shells turned ghost homes

Empty of former sea creatures.