Three Poems: A Annapurna Sharma

A Annapurna Sharma

AM I CURSED?

I am a saint

Once, in deep penance

On the iced peaks – The Himalayas.

Donned in white and saffron

Now, I frequent the backyards

Of mortals.

The white gathered in frills

Around the wheel of time –

Only a night to spare.

The saffron, sturdy and stoic

Sniffed the perils of time –

A reminder of destiny.

I bloom with the moon,

My consort for life

The bridesmaids sequin the nocturnal sky.

The zephyr loads its lungs

With my intoxicating fragrance

And ferries it far and wide.

I suffuse an aura of bliss

A downpour from my pot of passion

Wrapping mortals in the rug of desire.

I wait in the dark

For the bowl of carnal pleasures

To fill to the brim and deluge the night.

Not much time to waste

As my mother waits at the foot

With a crypt of soil.

I strive for a noble cause –

To build a conscience

Of the transience of existence.

I am a healer

I treat all fevers and pains of the night

And inflammation of the heart.

With my soothing touch.

Yet I have only a night

Before merging with Thee.

I wander with a sobriquet –

The tree of sorrow –

The Night Jasmine.

In the one night

I survive

The ambush of limbs.

Am I a…

I wonder –

Am I cursed?

BANQUET AT DAWN

 Aha! The party of the wealthy

The aroma, spicy and sugary

I can’t wait to befriend the chili

To gnaw into the green flesh

From the perch atop the neem

I smelt their guffaws and gorges

I yearned to dash down

For a piece

Alas! The orb of the moon

The cause of my blindness

I can grasp a glimpse of the delicacies

With my nostrils alone

Keep an eye open!

Was my mother’s counsel

The night appeared long and sore

And I donned the garb of a lookout

Aha! The banquet at dawn

I can’t wait for the sun to wake up

To swoop and grab

Before my competitor arrived –

The lame man and his blind wife

Digging their talons

Into the food

That is rightly mine

Ca! Ca! Wake up! Wake up!

The big birds with their guttural howls

The sun is up

You overslept they cried

We must stuff in mouthfuls

Of the grimy leftovers

Before the tap of the stick

At the end of the street

Why can’t they go?

And ask the rich

To throw some food or money

Why do they holler over

To the dustbin

Depriving us of our

Fair share

Of the banquet at dawn…

 WHEN I GOT LOST

My friend and I strolled in gaiety

We plucked the evening blooms

Waved at the receding tide

Munched on mundane gossip

Strode the stoic road

Leaped over boulders

Witnessed gunfire

The troops and the travails

Gazed at the pearly sky

Dozed on a lone park bench

Until

The wind picked us up

To be delivered across oceans and seas

Stuffed in a wooden cupboard

Plagued by silverfish

When I gazed at my mirrored self

Jagged pieces of glass pierced me

The blood in my chambers froze

At the sight of stains of gingered tea

Tit bits of savory stuck like glue

My eyes burnt

Unable to bear the brunt of spice and chili

When my dog-ears alerted

At the crescendo from the hall

I peeked as if I were a thief

My friend swayed just as a Holy Man

Dressed in ochre garb

Sermonizing with a rosary in hand

Gossip and page three were her stilettos

Sensationalism and fabrication slid down her arm

As adjectives and adverbs tapped

To the modern tunes

Was it Bieber or Swift?

Or Maroon5 or

One Republic or…

I don’t know, but

She appeared glossy and glitz

Embraced by one and all

My yells of truth

Stuffed in a stinking dustbin

Suffocated, I pitied my tattered self

My silent sighs smothered

As the paper boy

Whisked me in the air

And I land on the faded doormat

Of dear dwellings

Braving another nippy morn…

Setu, December 2018