SURRENDER Tiny fish shift the fluorescence of your eye, the red, yellow, fuchsia gaze of flowers remain the same. You would think tonight the moon would chase a random supernova exploding your heart With a sky lowered spooned by a sea, butterflies leave patterns marbling time yellow, black and moss Your hair falls into the eye of an impending storm shifting about mauve lily leaves to the edge of sleep, Pothos giants scaling the green fever of silence – sometimes too much can be said. Now then beside the chipped bricks of last millennia’s debris against myths and homes of owls, parrots, geckos, baby squirrels Inevitably jump-start from light portals around leaves and deep hurts to lost causes and terracotta bells. With great difficulty the bees on your grey-striped shirt, escape – tonight they plan to make nectar And this red staircase – damaged, broken – climbs nowhere Stuck in forever Which is now cupped in the palms of your heart held out to pray. Water-green dragonflies force the lilies coming out as the night’s Indian lilacs, rusty leaves crackling carpet this page white – their fragrance rhapsodic – how will this inebriated night end Spinning as it is with make-believes, fights over territories, creepy crawly things?
Gayatri Majumdar, the founder of The Brown Critique (1995–2015), has authored six books. She co-founded ‘Pondicherry Poets’ and curates numerous poetry/music events. Gayatri is associated with Sri Aurobindo Society in Pondicherry
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