Fathomless

For the girl who taught me what I should look for, in love… - Samir
Acknowledgements: Among my conscious debts are phrases from T. S. Eliot (from The Waste Land ) and Nissim Ezekiel (from The Hymns of Darkness ).
Epigraph “ Love is itself blind .That’s why it let’s you see more clearly…”
I. Closing Chapter In the darkest of alleys at the misty hour an old man begging for life in the age old remaining of the Shiva temple. Years before the alley was not the morgue of dry leaves who mutter when you walk upon them to warn you against the life’s truth man is but a ‘handful of dust’ ! With the rise of the hour-hand and the ringing of the far away bell the sprits rise with their unquenched stories to be re-opened and retold …
II. A Painting A shadow moving across the bay rising with the setting sun taking a dip in the roaring sea. Alone perhaps… deep in his thoughts talking to self “ why one loves if to love is to fail oneself at the need of the moment?” When everyone expects you to bring some laurels; when parents wish you cross the crossroad, you betray their dreams just for a sake of an emotion!” With the vanishing footprints on the sand the shadow is no more. The leather jacket of darkness enveloping the shadow making him the un-detachable part of the black paste that paints the canvas… “ True” mutters the painter with the thin brush dipped in black, that spurt out like the burnt out Palm leaf.
“ The moment ago , What the image of the lover that lingers at the bay thought was my philosophy too”. But with the change of time and with the change of passage one has to repair his moods his thoughts, ideas and views. “ so, there is no surprise if now I have a divorced legacy of a frustrated view !”
III Old Wife’s Tale Told the old woman with the growing line of seriousness resting at the far corners of her chin the story of the old painter who once loved a princess of course of his dreams not of any state. Childhood memories are but a part of the album, where among the fading snaps you search for the sweet moments. But the black – and – white moments do betray with their promises to colour up your life… The colour was used to bring them to life but as mere dark-light remainings of the passing moment. So, that smiling chin above the grey shadow of your princess is not what you see, but is just what you can imagine how she looked once standing at the last corners of time’s street, when the painter too
didn’t know except to smile at the darkening lens with the innocent looks. As the miles crossed with the dropping innocence “ we used to grow” with our growing senses with our passions and perhaps a little hunger.
IV. Utterances “ The truth is harsh, but true. We shared, what other lovers had except a heartfelt emotion at least I feel that even if I agreed to share it was a fear to her. What prevented her to open her thought sitting beside me is an unknown episode -- a mystery book with its last pages lost into the fathomless dark pulling me inside. I sit over the heap of dead skeletons of the glow worms who lost their youth in search of some sweet fragrance of some deadly plant. Looking around I found myself lost !”
V. A Night Preparation “ Money is hardly my aim, but there is the lurking wish for what it can buy” A charming mirror like an Yes-Man always ready to nod in affirmative at every wish of the princess “ Who is most beautiful in the world?” “ You yourself, with no doubt” replies the shining plate. with the tempting voice the glow in the eyes grow -- So, what if hundreds like it would bow down to the ultimate beauty? Wouldn’t that be more nice to have millions with their thirsty eyes look up at the sweet piece? “ Yes!” whispers the princess “ I need something more to prove my beauty”. So, when above the far edge of the sky the blue shawl was raised with hundreds of silvery glows spreading across the sky, the princess leans over the castle window and waits for the hoofs of the stranger with his promise of gold.
VI. Longing! Tears of a drop or two dropped from the old eyes that once loved the mirror more than the man. but with grip of age, the mirror cheated the million times, cracking the mud castle of the princess’ dreams. “ Now my lover is not here only his remote memory is, whom I thought a sure-thing is now an impossibility -- a much faded dream!
VII. A Moral The little girl with innocent looks right beside the Grand-Pa looking for butterflies points to the red beauties over the green thorn -- “ Aren’t the lovely?” Nodded the old man smilingly in his usual way with a resonant voice “ Yeah, they are -- the roses; but what makes them special is not what they are, but for what we keep for them inside us -- a little room in the kingdom of our heart a special room”. It is that special place that brings someone close makes someone a part of us perhaps creates the rainbow while you are standing under the rain.
VIII. The Celebration Gold is stronger, stronger is the lust than the faint morals of love “ You don’t need to wait when your body calls to serve it with another” Rapenzel’s hair waited for the touch of stranger’s ride. And princess shared the aftermath -- a sweet nothing with the stranger -- the sweeter than the old painter” Pink is not the part of night ‘ cause it is morning to come bringing with it an end to an erotic dream to the flickering eyes, trembling hands and heavy breaths. An episode ended, unknown to the world… unknown to the lover who thought she was the queen the queen of his heart!
IX. Fake Castle Evening falls, not with golden chariot to take you and move about in the land of dreams. The open passage the bare feet both are the hard facts not dreams with my each step with my each move what comes to my mind is the drowsy dream of your sweet voice, of your rosy smell. But with the company of the heartless Time with no interest at the beats of nerves with the blank eyes and in empty glance I hear the castle falls on the bank of our childhood -- once we made together against the threatening foams. To your questioning eyes, “ we are for eternity, not these foams”, was the answer that seems a lie today a fake piece of faith like a cracking table with no lasting legs.
X. Betrayed Not that they know how years pass with the passage of time with the passage of sorrow and perhaps a deep sigh. Age was not the same when Sun used to smile with the rays of gold with the fearing cold and perhaps a hearty dream. They used to play on the bank of the memory with their feet in sand and perhaps a drop of salty water. Time flew, like a bird and they grew old with their cherishing dreams with the growing passions and perhaps a pinch of lust.
Innocence remained no more the part of their eyes with the hunger of the flesh with the sensual screams perhaps a goal is achieved. They have reached the goal have known how it tastes in the embrace of the other in the beat other’s heart and perhaps no need to wear the mask. They knew, living together is not easy as it once seemed with the masks on with the hunger in the hands perhaps, it’s time for separation! Not that they knew how years pass with the passage of time with the passage of sorrow and perhaps a little sigh.
XI. At the Strangers’ Street When trust is in question you never know whom you love and long to own has her heart reserved for you? When faith is in question you never know the one you believe next to you has one’s ear reserved for you? How to know, when you are in doubt what you feel, those sweet beats of your heart, are not meant for the waste? How to know, when you are in dark what you think --- those pleasured voices are not to be made silent? In the street of the crowd, lots more to gather you are there, but can not utter the rising utterances the bitter agonies along with the sweet pains that your heart bears to tell someone near, some close
those words, you long to open In the Strangers’ street, none is so close not even dear ! A deep sigh perhaps, or a long passing breath at the moment’s end, is what you need -- you need to exist and to exit.
XII. The Beginning The beatings of the bells -- the sun shall shine over the broken walls of Shiva temple. The paused storm; a young one amidst the dead leaves all wait for a new start, a new beginning. What the old man wanted was just the re-packed version of the lost story -- to be alive again to make a new start from the desert of the distant past . He said: ‘ I’m forced by the five senses to fear the five senses !’ What is waited for, is a story I not know But when I search for more I see a vacant paper where a vague memory threat to linger !
Fathomless And Other Poems Samir K. Dash The poet can be reached at [email_address]

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