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| Mandakini Pachauri |
An Abrogation
This poem is my
shadow in a box
gold rimmed black lacquer
on white damask table
set to dine twelve a sun
flooded room a
crystal
chandelier reflects windows
open on rolling lawns
on distant hills trees unfold
their stirring leaves cast wide
intersecting nets of shadow
my poem hides behind
cumulus the sun draws
me indoors again
a room with shades drawn
sheets invite stain of sleep
on its meshed fibre bleached
to rest give up colour
andresistance mute
asking for nothing
a solo crow cries
its proclamation thrice
and leaves the green naked
my shadow grows weak
it grows darker and fades
it whispers send or was it end?
***
Snowdust
what
is this fire
stealing
below the snow
to make a point of every object
sleeping
stairs downward progression
a
squirrel runs across the hardened melt
to
stop and scan as if on stage and go on
its
been so long since I smiled at myself
no
sooner than I am alone I begin
to
narrate the universe as I go about
every thing I grab by the hinge
—to use as little force as possible
turn and
release accumulated dust
set
it all up
switch the machine on
behind closed doors
old
poets cock their heads
raise
their sights toward the song
that
begins inside my gut
so
much of this is timing
I
would have not stayed
back
to see—snowflakes
driven
in the windtiny flecks
stand
still in the storm
if
the window hadn’t
dirtied long ago.
***
Power as a Function
of Resistance
In
the breathing forest
I
walk the trodden path
observant
of life emergent
on
all sides
a
pale outline follows far
behind
a white-haired woman
draws
nearer and passes
I
stop and wait to let her go
Rain
is my sunshine
It
pinpoints leaves
in
the canopy of superimposition
tiny
explosions drizzle
on
my rain coated body
Fragrance of wild
herbs I have
crushed almost every day in passing
my nostrils fill with memory
my
mouth opens a ring-
necked dove coos and stops the rain
fills
the gaps in gentle swells
too
beautiful to stop listening
and separate from the scene
another
younger woman
strides
uphill behind me
a
soft hello and she’s
gone
her
eyes wide camera in hand
I
linger by the candelabra
Elder
flower wet and swaying
bitterness I know well
before the curative dark swell
***
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