The recent moons have left their nocturnal rains of dreams in the walls of this house you built me .. with your own hands with virgin clay and sunbaked bricks of promises you made while you discovered the Earth that I am.
All the walls are damp and moist emanating the fragrance of petrichor of our endless conversations echoing of lifetimes you’ve made me homes of rainbows and dawn mist while you lost yourself in my eyes. You were suffocating me for fear that I would drift away with monsoon clouds.
The oil lamps cast bizarre shadows on the murals you and I painted with soft plaster of sandal paste, passion yolk and the mortar of resilient commitment.
Terra-cotta walls and floors blended with our red angst of anticipated separation. Me the Earth and you the Heavens.
A star shed its gentle light on my nose pin. My nose was your object of amusement. Not so perfect as you sculpted me in your imagination. What’s in a nose anyway. I smelt your soul aeons ago. Isn’t that enough? You found me!
Now suns of several seasons have dried the walls of our home.. cured and smoothened with our desperate footsteps of longing and pining, that time was our villain watching our embrace as we lay mute with the pulse of existence.
The dead silence of such anticipation gets comic relief from the crickets and cicadas in the thicket of our backyard where we planted poetry.
Oh love! As a far away moon glides and our shadows hazy on the dark floor, the bells of my anklets break the still of a night that threatens to be washed by daybreak as I lie in surrender that you would redeem my penance. Yet you touch me only with your shadow! And I become a fog sighing with a resignation that nights are forever and that I will be your shadow.
The Shadow -- Pablo Picasso
The Shadow on the Woman -- Pablo Picasso