Prologue

      I am still completely intoxicated, in love.
      And with this love, I watch the circle.
      - Chogyam Trungpa

      Yesterday, I took some photos
      of my feet at the lake, the camera
      did you know?
      - it is an ordinary one
      Yesterday my feet, you know?
      my feet are always wet
      from standing in sweet water
      Wet from waiting
      waiting for you, my love

      ***

      1. Poet’s pyre

      In a blindfold world
      I go beat the deathless drum
      – Bhikku Nanamoli

      This is not the first poem
      I have taken out from the dusty old file
      there are a number of poems which are still
      fresh and smell of new earthen pots
      Agnaye swaha!
      it is the primary offering for the pyre
      the journey into your being
      and not being
      You were here till yesterday
      and in the yellowness in the corners
      of leaves you now stand as a pen in my hand
      in its scratches on paper
      you are the rolling wind through my fan
      I smell you as I smell sharp spices
      Agnaye swaha!
      thist is the second offering I make
      for your pyre
      The boat is in the sea
      the net is in the boat
      the fish is in the net
      the fisherman is killing the fish
      blue is a shade that fades
      a boat is the one that sinks
      I am fish for you
      Agnaye swaha!
      you are
      in the verses of this poem’s remains
      we wrote them together, remember?
      the words
      the melody
      the hum of our breaths
      you are in here
      in the threads of my thoughts
      in the endless infinity of my love
      for you
      Agnaye swaha!
      and for ever and 4 days
      you will remain with the poem
      and the empty box
      and the fallen leaves from trees
      and the smell of spices as it fades away

      ***

      2. Marks of deterioratation on New Moons Day
      When I meet the right consort
      my thoughts become clear
      - Chogyam Trungpa

      This time again
      you have given yourself up to prison
      you have build the walls yourself
      and now you live in the heavy dungeon
      even cracks won’t allow entry
      A draft, but inside I see you smile
      you shine like the light of the sun
      oh what glow your name still have!

      This time you have cheated on me!
      I whom has given you warm kisses on your feet
      and stroked your whole body with my eyelashes

      Last night, on my window sill
      I saw the marks of deterioration
      and of creeping death
      of my poems endings
      the corpses, and my fingers are stiff
      with pain in my neck
      and shoulders
      the crack’s inside
      inside my body ache is at war
      I am turning from river to blood

      ***


the editorial staff's blog