He talks, turning a sun-stained

Your darkness blinds me,Your love words shut out the wise world’s din.[From Only The Soul Knows How To Sing]

Like an orange inMy glass? I sip theFire, I drink and drinkAgain, I am drunkYes, but on the goldof suns, What noblevenom now flows throughmy veins and fills mymind with unhurriedlaughter? My worriesdoze. Wee bubblesringmy glass, like a bridesnervous smile, and meetmy lips. Dear, forgivethis moments lull inwanting you, the blurin memory. Howbrief the term…

And, went out with friendsFor walks…Now that I love you,Curled like an old mongrelMy life lies, content,In you….[From Summer in Calcutta]

Pale fingers over mirror-fieldsReapingThat wheat brown hair.BeautyFalling as chaff in old mirrors,While calendersIn allThe cities turn….[From Only The Soul Knows How To Sing]

Richly clashing, and anklets jingling, jinglingJingling… Beneath the fiery gulmohur, withLong braids flying, dark eyes flashing, they danced andThey dance, oh, they danced till they bled… There were greenTattoos on their cheeks, jasmines in their hair, someWere dark and some were almost fair. Their voicesWere harsh, their songs melancholy; they sang ofLovers dying and or…

The house withdrew into silence, snakes movedAmong books, I was then too youngTo read, and my blood turned cold like the moonHow often I think of goingThere, to peer through blind eyes of windows orJust listen to the frozen air,Or in wild despair, pick an armful ofDarkness to bring it here to lieBehind my bedroom…