VARNAMALA


Gieve Patel

 

 

POEM
 

Each moment, and moment after moment,
Somewhere, a private and extreme act of menace
Is performed. A thin continuous cry
Hounds the universe, accompanies
The turning of the earth; cry
Continuously reborn and interred.
Sometimes the menace is public.
A multitude watches the body of
One man subjected to ingenious
Pain. I see a little knot
Of flesh and muscle with shocking
Patches of hair, and hearing him
Cry, wonder how his differs from
That thin cry extracted in
A private room. Does one tormentor's
Approval in the silence
Of a room, match weight for weight
The shared full-throated applause
Of a crowd made aware for once
Of every sensation
Under its dress?
 

POEM
 

What is it between
A woman's legs draws destruction
To itself? Each war sees bayonets
Struck like flags in 
A flash of groin blood.
The vicious in-law
Places spice or glowing cinder
On that spot. Little bird-mouth
Woman's second,
Secret lip, in-drawn
Before danger, opened
At night to her lover.
Women walk the earth fully clothed,
A planetary glow dispelling
The night of dress,
A star rising where
Thigh meets belly: target spot
Showered
With kisses, knives.
 
 

Portal

Brahmaputra