A HANDFUL OF LEMON GRASS

 

If lemon grass. of all grasses
Is splendid and lustrous, by which a sensitive damsel fly
Ponders about the tender day
And the passage of time
And  from behind the bench a handful of jasmine flowers
Slowly spread their sweetness in the wind
Longing to touch, to see, to converse
To the whiff of strange aromas that pass by
And the thief who would like to enter the gates
Looks for a sufficient alibi
There were always walls to be scaled
And two agile deer stood by gazing across a fence
And how can things get to a pass
How can tendrils be drawn to the gourd vine
And the yellow flowers of bitter gourd
Bear fruit
How can a robin dance about on the floor
And its foot marks make patterns
That go beyond the marks of a single shoe
Thrown at the past
How can eleven be time enough?
The man who walks around the garden murmurs something to the air
A crow pleads guilty
For having taken to flight around an amaltas tree
In the kettle, the water boils
And somebody calls for tea
The voices from the underbrush
Move towards a cricket that keeps on playing out
Shrilly about  the unseen.

Is there a way for the shrimp in the water
A way to meet another
Is there a way they could touch with their long hands
Can the water rise up sprout
Can the circles of many years be loostened
And the timber play its tune?

One jumps up in hope
Tries to clasp a handful of grass
And little flowers for tea-
And calls out-
Is there a way out of here?
A tune to step by.
A bottle of rice beer
Piece of coconut
But one is assured
That there is some road that goes past the gate
And a loud flower blooming in the nest of an eagle
Brought there from thorny bushes
And blushing, while remembering.

mob.09427118034