In the bud of sweet garden, a bee
swings its gentle wings, brushing against
the beatitude of breeze,
fragrance
the rainbow corner of the sky
stoops to conquer the leaves
the dust covered skin of sand....

 
She sings in time, in tune
a waiting too long now
a distant bell chimes the village air
the rust of the door loosens out slowly
never been closed, the entrance wide
the cobwebs are cleared, the walls dusted
the bed spread to shelter
a bit of his soul...

 
Fragrant oil ornates her hair
skin of flowers, smell jasmine and rose
the bee still dances in the red twilight
melting nature, a faint star
She has lit the evening fire....

 
Birds are restless on the horizon
homecoming solitude, a practised routine
the angels have mastered the art of earthy control,
thatched roofed huts, here there, spots of black
speckled leopard on rustic land
sides of an endless moor

her eyes wide, expecting
lined, decorated, smudged, with
black, silk kohl....

 

Odour of his sweat, odour of his hair
odour of his skin...

mesmerising evening sun
The kohl melts, dropping on the skin,
a grey black mole, a spot of love
slowly rolls down her cheeks, her neck and beyond, his footprints clothe the bare dry leaves

 
Lost she was in the evening glory
the river has turned making its way to the sea
the birds have returned to their nests
the bee has disappeared in the vast heavens
the bed is spread - wide, fragrant
incense and ashes breathe in perfumed smoke

 

She has lit the evening fire
and only the fire - still burns...

 


January, 2001
Copyright - Saberi Roy, 2007