Frigid Kiss Tears in Virgin's Breath, Kamalendu Nath [english novels to read TXT] 📗

fed;
This was the first time ever that turkeys came to peck;
apparitions never seen before, then why was this
craze?
…Building permits are on rise and so are the loggings.
What used to be empty roads; now more cars on it are
clogging!
…Few days back I did choose a path, skirting covered snow
through the woods and not the trail that I thought I’d
go
to the landing, I wished; sun gazing on my shoulder left,
I chose to scurry around a path through the thickets
cleft.
Marveling at the scenery I felt the Sun now had run
Right; lost my way in woods, as always but having drenched in
fun.
And then there I saw a flagging that ruined all I’d spun;
for all these woods, wild once, now shrunk in wisdom’s
run.
…But then this is the trend all over on this inhabited Earth,
all other lives are being swallowed by the one with the rapid
birth…

So in the pictures I’d shot - watch if they were the ghosts
of strong ballerina white-ash legs, standing like silent
posts.
Slowly, did they choose to move, out from standing still.
We had watched them so close, yet yarned for more that
fill.
In descending dark, the ghosts would elope, hoofing driveway loose.
Never had we seen before - so close, so long, a herd of live-ghost
moose.

23. Through Rising March (Fog)

Turned at us - head low,
Dark unblinking eyes,
Waiting in earnest,
Taking in our moves,
burrowing in silver mist.
Righting up her head,
Trotting in delight,
Prancing in gaits in
Anticipated moves
through flimsy layer gist.

Irritation she’d incur,
Jumping on two paws -
Scratching in greetings
Dug excitement grooves
then set on red-dawn.
Sweetest of all was her
Resting chin on jean-lap
Or on table’s edge -
Heart-melting gaze like
that of a lost fawn.

On the master bed
She’d sprint up and lay,
On and off all day long
But vacate when it was
our time instead.
Confronting porcupine quills
That her spirit would sally;
Glossing over routines
Only as of dreams
in sunrise red.

In nervous flicking tongue
She would dillydally
Falling out of step -
Uncomplaining find us
on our trodden path.
Hesitation would lay bare
That’d crown her bold
Inquisitiveness led dare
Which she’d adorn fairly,
splitting Heaven-Earth.

Yet she would cower
Under storm and thunder,
In wind’s howling cry
Cutting deep corner
burrow flimsy morn.
That scolding wouldn’t touch
Her but she dreaded
Pain, real or perceived,
In which she’d wail
shriller than a fog horn.

This form of her, lean thin,
Without a care or mean
And a thought of
Viciousness never
would sprout in that space.
A decade plus two of
Prancing waves had left
Imprints on wet beach
Of daily routine
filling her imprinted face.

That once beset a dream
And the sufferings
Beset our Amani
In deficiencies that
racked physical fence.
That humble shadow,
Protector of our
Domain chased two Moose
Before erased for good
her mortal presence.

24. Drawn on Gloom

(published in The 2010 Poets’ guide to NH, Pg. 356)
More than a bouquet of mists
Draping mountains in black veil -
Shrouds hanging so long, discretely, now
Fading…
Surrounding this Province
Lake that cuts two ways – two towns
And two states, harboring a
Moment sought, marring a speeding
Heart…
Across this highway, I travel
Dazed with dripping wound-bleeds.
So fresh! Just returning
From assisted downing to a gentle
Sleep…
Inevitable closure of one so dear, so
Sweet – in a chapter so full, so vibrant;
Blessing her into finality!
But for the resonance residues leaving
Imprints…
Grappling dense fog, speeding
Through mountains’ hold on this highway,
Reaching in its nape, to hide;
Taking all central Effingham in its
Lap…
As if to wipe off the dripping loss
In mist of heart-ache… And then streaks in these
Sunrays!… Will it unfurl once again the
Zenith, shinning bright? - smiting lost bereaving
Sights -

25. March, 2009

Wrapped on one another in flowing streams
Of season’s change and change in season
Came a rising and a heartbeat skip

-

A silhouette, against a glaring white, of a human
Reproductive, arching torso in lazy yearnings,
Palms clasped behind head with protruding
Elbows in still-vibrating hummer wings;
Knees firm on terra ferma

with heels
Pressed on soft-firm behind,
Bellowing on forefoot, to
And fro rhythmically.

Sketch the comings – Grackles, Redwing Black
Birds, even a Robin before the snow cover is
To oust between its ills and the crocus trumpets.

In-between the serenading of early spring birds
And firming buds peeking out of season change
I snowshoe on the improbable - a swamp; final
Time; for in feet-deep slush that it’ll turn
In drainage before month’s end, filling the
Wilkinson brook wetland
Navigable shrubby into a
Nightmare;

Of a silhouette arising before last year’s end, missing
Form that all those financial inoculators would point
Skyward of self-delusional rewards, that is dissolving
In hopelessness of past greed, bringing
Down all of four corners merrily,
Hitting most gobblers equally,
In shelter, life, feed, while
Confusion is setting in…

Like others I am counting on when my life savings
Would bounce back, at least to a level of a
Survival end, but for this new images keep hovering,

That started in a happy setting, if I may say so, a very
Happy indeed, when she said the day being lit so
Brightly - I did not disagree, sunshine a plenty;
That they would not be long from the merry
Event which all of them went in delight
And I was to hold the fort till their
Return, but came a change
In frightening speed…

Dark clouds engulfing the whole brightness from
Bottom up, in a vortex of blackness, smothering
The canopy of hope and reason in a despair netting…

26. Winter’s Passing

Rain, rain – bleached whey drain
With fluffy cotton candy swirl
Down Green Mountain on
Wintry advisory
Stop this day, way
Before it bleeds dry the throbbing
Heart jammed in boulder can
Amidst last lazing down
On sodden bed -
Most all Friday.
Round, round – wings on wind
Tide, eying on flotsam rolling by
Down the impatient stream
Tunneling down the
South mountainside,
In slant tossed wink, curling ribbons
Down Town House Road, folding
Both sinuous bands in
Swamp basin of
Wilkinson brook.
Diving down, cawing black wings
To poke the eyes off first, if
Only the body would stay
Afloat - heads up
Unlike praying -
Prostrated in sinner’s repentance;
Cleansing unsettled conflicts,
Pincushion spread - readying
Only to face the next

Triumphantly!

27. Patriot day Nor’easter of 2007

It was in coming – foretold, forecasted,
days past, when it came upon us, in a rush,
teasing emotions.
Finding us frozen in inaction, it called
for action, but then lay in wait the
carved, set erosions

.

In advance of this month, this spring of
grudging winter snow, of winter cold that did
settle repeatedly
to fill in this perfect combination
of a wintry storm, out of season, out