SUSANNA, THE WOLF

SUSANNA, THE WOLF

Susanna went to her goat-skinned lover

Bewailing of lost innocence

The trees on the way tried to stand in her way

The stones on her way tried to bruise her feet

But Susanna, her mind made up

(In  costumes of goat-skin,

And smelling of blood)

Was a hurry hurricane, as you may well  know.

Susanna went to her goat- skinned lover

Carrying nothing but the weight of her love

She was so light that the wind missed her

But crossing the meadow, the children saw her

They ran up to her and they ran down to her

“Susanna,” they said

“Your lover is a wolf, they have told us that…”

“And he wears such boots, that they never told you”

Said she to herself, as they went up the hill,

“But he ate up the sheep, and he ate up the lambs

And he left all the crumbs, for the children to see.”

Susanna went to her goat-skinned lover,

Her feet was worn and her sandals torn

But her love was born in the depth of the river

It cut across the stream like a shiver

She had borne a cross on her chest like a medal

(It was more like a tomb

When the passion was blown)

Her eyes did gleam with the green of the wild

Her teeth did shine in the dark of the night

Susanna herself was no mere child

Christened a wolf, at the age of three!

( Indian Literature, 1998)

WHERE A TOY FAN BRUSHES THE SKY

On the tin roof

Of a pavement dwelling

Painted in grays and browns

By the dust and the rust

A child had put up

That toy of graded yellows

A mere speck, a simple device,

A toy fan of glittering golden yellow foil

Yet one that made the world around it

Turn on its axis,

When it caught the wind.

On a life reduced to its animal elements

A large and proud flower

That had drawn out

All of its festive energies,

Blossoming on this make-shift thatch.

At the angle that it dipped

It no longer

Rotated in the wind

But like a stubborn dry-flower

Held out on its own,

Fighting austerity

With a full-blown passion

That kept alive

All the colours

Deep in its distress, as in love.