Categories
Poetry

You Tree

Poetry by Gayatri Majumdar

Courtesy: Creative Commons
YOU TREE

You tree
when everything else dissolves the rain – 
traffic lights flash in my eye
watering fences, madness and chanting.
I stone, defenceless.
You are tree to me – 
gentle reminder: this is human love.
small change – something unlike bliss – 
I’m breathless, 
                      but alive
as much as a human can be.
I confess I asked for this – oh,
so many times over,
the sour-curb side of the mouth,
the pickling of the heart,
the moon’s slow-curl down the spine
unlike death – 
                    the rigor mortis setting in.
You green about me 
– my fingers and hair – toes rooting,
                     you remain unmoved.
I asked for this?
You are the tree in me
struggling, uncertain amidst the trouble of unfear – 
that definitive light falling in your Neptunian eye …
		this hypothermia
preserves me.
I am ready to sink lower than this;
slow-grounding, 
                   tasty bites for the night’s merry-makers.

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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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Categories
Poetry

Love Poetry by Gayatri Majumdar

Courtesy: Creative Commons
I'M YOURS

If you must,
	consume me in totality 
		leave no trace – 
no fragrance, no rain,
not even whisperings
	among seeds bursting to ground
and shed-music of falling meteors – 
find me that obeisance rest of your red honeysuckle
	agreeing with the sweet daft.
Slay me, if you must,
	for I am yours,
but spare me the brutalities 
of certain birthing, happy endings.


LOVE

As I fall into your arms,
I can hear the distinct click of the jail door 
in a rusty corner of the galaxy.

You, my lover, were impatient for this precise moment
dispersing me to light
the night’s jazz fused with cosmic dust and saxophone. 

You steady your gaze, 
your belief in me unwavering
even as I
howling to moon and street lights,
grapple with my weakening knees
– tremble, unable to pin the ‘pain’.

You, my lover, were certain this would be the precise moment 
when I’d return your gaze – 
broken, wanting all the love your petalled heart can hold
– demanding, dissolving 
into the light-substance of your presence,
this night’s other delights 
twigging, drumming to my heartbeats.

I marvel at the precision of your timing,
just when I thought all that is not there, seems lost;
You appear, materialise
Stuck as you are, in me,
in this garden
of crooked pathways, wayward roots whispering – 
sleep hours of creatures and last sips of tea.

This time I’m certain,
your departure is imminent – you take with you the night’s last melody – 
the seasons will change
as the ethers of your blues ache,
return those lost hours to me . . .

You begin to perfect the tribhanga*,
your flute wafting the stones and trickery. 

*Krishna’s tribhanga (“three parts break”) pose.

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

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Categories
Poetry

Poetry by Gayatri Majumdar

Gayatri Majumdar
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

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL