Poetry: Sri Lal

All This Is Not

All this is not 

created by 

some foreign god.

That which changes

and what does not,

hammer, iron, and anvil,

sulfur and fire,

the garden of river and fruit,

the city of nine gates,

earth, sea, wind, and void—

None can say

if any of this

be true or untrue

for where there are two

there is neither

one.

As such, 

the long low note 

of the bamboo flute

and the silence that carries her

are inseparable.

***

Like the Night Sky

River and sea are one water.

Beggar and saint receive alms.

What is deemed unholy

is also sacred—

So, receive all this

like the night sky

that we cannot fathom

yet gaze upon without fear,

the infinite space

that holds every heavenly body

as it explodes or implodes,

sending forth the mystery of light.

***

The Door Is Open

The door is open. No door

has ever been locked.

Why search for a key—

That of bowing.

That of chanting.

That of fasting.

That of sack cloth

and ash.

A wooden fish.

A tuft of hair.

A wheel of sorrow.

Throne, pulpit,

begging bowl.

Holy war.

Drop empty reverence.

A lover walks this earth

with hands open

to give and to receive,

for what else 

can any of us do.

As we wail, so we sing

in a world where we know little—

The depths of sea or sky

as fathomless

as the certainty of light.

***

You Were Not Born

You were not born

to be hungry or lost. 

to sin and repent,

to deny yourself,

to wear a hairshirt,

to believe you are unworthy.

As great a danger as pride

is not to imbibe the wine 

of this life and dance.

A ruby gleams in your pocket.

Hold in hand a simple stone,

so like this planet as it spins 

gently through a sky whose end 

we cannot know.

Friend, this body of fertile earth 

and river, the sacred fire,

the bright shadow play

are your creation,

my creation.

The hour now 

is what we make it.

Be tender with yourself

and with your people.

Let the moment be sweet,

like raw, wild honey,

like the jasmine star,

like a gentle lullaby.

I love you,

I whisper into your ear

as you sleep,

though you do not hear me,

or do you, now?

***

All Language of Prayer

God speaks all language

of prayer,

and no language 

but silence.

God does not read

holy books,

but god will read the heart

at the end of a day,

at the end of the road.

If we hide anything,

we hide it from ourselves.

Do not believe in

a muddled mind.

Drop the veil. 

Unbind the turban.

A lover looks into the mirror

and sees your face and mine,

for are we not ever being polished 

to reflect each other’s light?

***

Bio: Sri Lal’s writings have appeared in Fiction International, the New York Quarterly, Epiphany, Daedalus, Bombay Review, Indian Quarterly, Chicago Quarterly Review, Bamboo Ridge, Setu and others. She is the author of Atma Bodha (O Books, 2010), a collection of Indian hymns in English translation. She teaches literature and creative writing in the English Department at CUNY’s Borough of Manhattan Community College. 

Email: pengirl16yahoo.com

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Setu, August 2025