R K SINGH

MY SILENCE

1974 – 1984

1

She is the treegreen and wide abundantly dressedoverflowingspreading her sleevesblesses allin her cool shadesolitude teemswith breezy songsI feelnearer God

2

That autumn treefrom this windowlooks like a young womannakedexciting birdsto comekiss and playtomorrowwhen spring will returnshe will be too lovelyto touch

3

I feel her hyaline influx

in my deep love leapsfrom the soul with subtle glowsher breath runs through my veins:this vassal of the flesh blushesas I drink the infinite in her

4

I clasp your handsand feel the bloodrunning savagelythrough your arteriesin tulip silence

5

Is it the perfumeor your bodythat makes the nightdrunken?

your lush lipsripple firein beautiful silence

your fragrance radiatesflowers and water

can I seek my voicein your breasts?

6

BlindI see her beautydeafI hear her melodyignorantI partake of her knowledgepoorI share her wealthin-drawn

her vision reigns my heart

yet the darkness of dustveils my beingI don’t understand the hidden words

though I situnder her tree of loveshe’s still away from mejust one paceif I could takeI enterthe pavilion of eternity

7

The best poetryis a womanconcrete, personal, delightfulgreater than all

8

What isthis lightwithout raysshiningin your eyes?

9

She is declared a mental caseher legs are shackled tightin the street she snails up and down

naked without foodshe freezes in Decembernear the drain curls up

unnoticed by pavement dwellersbuilding a bonfire of twigs, paperscast-off shoes and rags

under the bridge sipping teaI hear the bell tolling at Rajghatpilgrims make haste to catch train

10

She stands between two parched trees like a sea of beautyand looks at passing fishermen in the afternoonher eyes are fish yet no one caresthe riotous leaves drop down and restbefore the flame cools she seesagainst the hilly ups and downs her broken banglesand hides a weeping rose in her white saree

11

The little heifer eats inlandscape of violence lieson grass that is a grave

wild beats and bulls surround

who’ll hear her agony whengods are begotten from their sperms

12

To express sexa crowd is convenient in the busduring the Puja he rubs hardhis cock against the ladies’ bottomsbefore turning wild gets downat Sabuj Samaj to searcha new outlet in the PandalDurga’s eyes are too hazed to seethe dark desires of youthcrowding in the name of religionpuja, culture, and tradition--all a national wastage—while the cowards fear the comingcloser of boys and girlsin freedom

the government deployscriminals activelypushing and pressingto keep the law and order, who botherstheir rape and adultery in the crowd?

13

He hands coinsjust to look atthe tanned frontsbehind the little holesof her only saree perhapsthe urge is to tearthe wrap that hidesthe little thing buthe’s too timid to uncoophis heart trappedin her sandal arcs

14

While I was petting and neckinglying over her bodyshe was calculating whethershe could afford a new sareefrom what I would pay hertonight

15

Spring’s full youthhe unbuttonsher printed skirton red cushionfeels autumndropping downthe leaves of yearat the centre inclinelike a twisted stemat the endwind dries upa few more prints

16

Squatted in sunshe was cleaningwhite and yellow germsfestering her wombstill she thankedshe was alive

17

She mysteriously concealsall her passionslooking straight pretendsshe hasn’t seen me

18

In the forest of her bodyand steeps of her breastsis the highwaymanI saw escapingthe moonover stream last night

19

Each night in the islandof my little bed I entersensing sex like octopussqueeze her with all my fingers

to bridge the gapbetween dream and visionset sail, and shipwreckedunfree the tensions

in monsoony mistsearch door in the wall orgather diaspora of continentsin a hidden landscape

as a wild mystic explore

her privates with handgunand land on fresh islandseach night in my little bed

20

When I askedto open her secretshe showed me thumb

I thoughtshe would returnlove for love

21

Looking like reality this lifeis nothing but showdon’t fall in its traps

22

Sometimes in winterin the snow of your bodythere simmered a heat

in a vivacious springfell a sweet calamityas love began to jell

don’t you remembermy dream’s river stirredand the nemesis in summer?

wedged between me and youwas jinx that rainsto remind of age and passion

the growing jungles and the bluesempaling warmth and vigouran end we always detest

23

The rising smokeis mysteriouslike woman:I seethe shadeof a snake

24

Like an autumn treecurving, leaningwaving, droopingnude, mysteriousbites into consciousnessthrough dark odysseyher love-hate isthe primal snake

25

Every sleeping guygets upat the last kickof a waking tart

26

Melting chrysanthemumsilent chromosomesrestless energystones in woodwhere is the release?

27

Swelled by humiditythe mountain is a green cemeteryhiding men and agespeople may not believe in the valleyeveryone is walking I hear

death echoing in tunnelsdark or grey, black or greenitching like a whorewhose hand has clutched everythingevery song is a lamentconspiring with rains, winter, summerautumn, storm, wind, sun, moonit’s hardened , cruel, a green stonenourishing the dirgewe crown death

28

The limy layers on their facesand the fidgeting fingers in ashesnot far from the kitchen yardthey pick out the used up coalto burn against their povertycook tomorrow’s food

29

I sweat my hours in the burrowsdust cloud the still days

roasting their calligraphyI burn in the deadly gorge

what if the stains pursueI drink sulphur on the road

30

Banaresseems holier at nightmating dogs and bitchesjoin punditsin the name of religiontheir meditationadds noiseno one will admitI am no godif it doesn’t nettle

the divine restit kills my peace

31

The river flows through woodsin Banares for centuriesdown this terrace washes ills and hides sinsin her ripples reflectsthe eternity they lovethe myth of heaven and salvationeach morning my father repeatscelestial history while his sonbreaks off the golden boughand acts Rex Nemorensiswithout fighting the priest

32

Policemen roam about the roadsat night goblins terrifythe poor cart-driverwith long clawsrob the travelersdetect in every mana thief or pickpocketarrest the innocentbeat recklesslyturn criminalin uniformenslave law and libertywhile the watch-dogs sleepin two housesthey hum aroundchewing tobacco

33

God alone knowswhat clay they are made ofbut I have seen travelling in Lucknow

bus drivers are annoyedby conductors’ whim

34

There’s no penaltywhen dogs foulside-walks, parksand streets, but ifa man pisses or spitsin a cornerthey fine 100 pounds

35

They wanted to writeslogans to transform their follies into autumn

banners at the gate flutter between leavesscratching winter eruptions

they monitor the dead woodsand overlook what goes onright under their nose

in the name of libertytake greater libertiesto improve posture of their days

36

The consort of the Earth-Motherwithout buttocks our little primateweeping for others and never for himselfkills with kindness his own childrenvery few worshippers would realizewhether he wears purple robes or golden sandalsthe vermillion-daubed god hides simia deithat mounts on a goat and carries an owlsucking the monkey with his anticsof love and justice he plays

the lamb, the lion, the pig, and the apeand proves his virility in the politicsof monkey, cow, and snake

37

Because he was intelligentand his talent wrecked his lifehe wants his son to growignorant and stupidthat he enjoys a quiet lifeby becoming a cabinet minister

38

They repeat the blundersout of ignoranceor kindness

to prove wisdombureaucratsjoin hands with

politicians and journalistswho appearin mating season

like dogs in 0ctober and Novemberand perpetuate the blur

around the holeto stand in the queueof decaying ancestors

39

The watery weathercontinues to shatterthe mortal shell

one by onewashes the paints

that hide the face

40

Shadows spring from nightwhispering darkness fog the streetlightand I walk alone against the wind

unseen and unheard strangers glideinto dreams mind creates lightless circlesone after another longings

spin their wheels outside memiracles blind faith inside drugged genescreate human ghouls droning out

psalms in tenebrous voidmy lulling spirit looks or Shamashto light the woodening house

41

Icy winds howl at the Gangescold stars cover the winter skyat the alao they shed silence of agonies

hiding hands in sleeves I walkmy shadows circling back to the beginningnow lost in the drain that was river

42

The works and days’ wearinessprolong inside, turn out a smilerescind the stitches in the sky

half-asleep hysterical nighthoses down the gutters without fussI collapse on the open-thighed creek

and feel the whole city in the glenpeel off the illusory flesh-warmth untilthe rosy-fingered dawn messes around

43

I wanted to touch a sunvanished before my handsbecame titan to reachthe horizon

44

I see boats sinking and lifebewitched by sufferings, hereis M in both palmsstill I am no Picasso

45

The snake has slipped outleaving a dark paint over the groundshade lingers to remindthe slant moon I held in dark

46

Draped in white the nightembraces ripplesdown the terrace the coursedefies my gazethe moon falls into piecesdown my son’s cheeks

47

Tonight the icy wind blowsand a huge log (of an uprooted tree)barely smoulders to warm upthe nameless children of footpaths

I am born in freezing Decemberand I know well what warmth meansto a ferryman rowing across the riverin the silence of twilight

48

Watching the waves up and down I standlike an islandshielding chaosI hear the serenadeand live my joy

49

There is altar and firebut what is this ritespirits tope and announcethe burial of heaven?

50

Evening’s slow paceagainst leafless treesis within me

a whale growsagainst dull seastars fall mute

dark fingers harpoonmy name through tunnelnight chimes shallow

51

The boneswith curveskinks and hollow

the truephysicalness

we love worm-eaten reality

now floatson river’s breast

wrapped in whitemoving towardemptiness

52

Waiting for the light to go outthe night peeps inthrough the windowand time passespoem by poem

53

The withered leavesblown away in autumncome again with the tired rains

the season confersthrough the soft grey cloudsthe growing freshness on naked trees

54

Your vacant eyesreveal this city:dim, absent-minded, humidorchestrating bronchial noisesby night ‘quakes in the faceswash my deep peace

in cells naked gods nudgeborrowed girls with wealthuncreate their seedsfor hurried happinessboats toss about onprostituting men and women

55

There is something in the airthe tree tops announcebut I walk in sleep

candied ideasshine like lightand the third day ends

56

Walking along the waterfrontI’ve watched the dark waveswith rope in thousand handsto bind the dragon

my smoke-drenched spiritand black patches remindmy eating yams rawand the dragon fleeting

57

It rises like a flameburns in silencestraight, without waveringlight in peaceradiates love:I fish I in methe stream and ocean merge

58

The expanding rings of the suncobweb my being and thingsall around cluster from dawn to duskthe myth repeats itself

the leaping light from my depthsis the halo round the paper-god’s headstirring the radiance and soul and allit’s the equation of live, die and be

but the confounding solitude at this hourconspires to hallow its sombre sightmy feelings mirror in the absoluteof blind prayers and short visions

59

Death comes from the southlike cool pleasant windand cheats the guard with spear

lest the heat burn the universethe mare is hidden in waterand flames rise in flood

what if my hair fallsShiva is planted deepand the serpent is eternal

60

There is no resteven after deathbody is cut opento detectthe cause of deaththen burnt to ashesto crown formality

61

Rooted in twilight, dreamingpruning spring thoughtsa partitioned façade

this empty cell of timeis me weaving heatin unholy solitude

climbing rickety heightsbooze or castor oil sexto suspend creation

62

I dance the magicand ritual of the moonwith darkness like rock

on the island in meUhuru stands like lingampink mood turn violet

63

Love isto wash your handbefore touching the penisin obeisance to lingamthe climax of creation

love is to gather moleculesof happiness in fleshand merge in raptureto propitiate Shiva

64

The sangam of Ganga and Yamunais a homosexual unioncharming but sterile

my friend knows wellthe road to heaven doesn’t gothrough snaky waters

65

From the sea of days and yearsI gather white sanddrifted on the beachin the shells waves bringI search my name

like a timeless thought

from first to last it remainsrevolving like the earththe sun in me rises and setsand I dance my silence on the ocean floor

66

I wake in the morning to the tiring screamsthen out of the bed and away from wifeget lost in the sickening routinein Dhanbad the dark worries --no light, no water no sugar, no oil his notes and bickerings and tensions and allergies and threats and coercions and academic conspiracies—create nightmares between 6 and 10the fears are real with curses on lips

I fight with the devils desiringto procreate christians--fill the pits they dig all dayor stamp on evils till evil ends—while others watch from behind the curtainmaybe, laugh at my massacring the timeor the sold-out dons despisemy odd politics or opposite lookat ISM they feed on snakesand shrink and shrivel everydaythe self-waste and wars and criesreduce man to nought I seeevery moment they muck in mocksand my own shoes pinch when I walk

67

It is the same housethe same alcoveI shed my loneliness inreading prayers and psalmschanting mantras in fumes

it is the same room

the same cement rackcrowded with earthen idolsof Ganesh and Lakshmiworshipped last Diwali

it is the same altarthe same paper-Kaliframed in glass anddusted with sindoormy wife puts each day

it is the same floorthe same four wallsgod watched us sweepingand purifying with dhoopameach evening before bed

it is the same prayersthe same pleasureswe rejoice with impulsethey savour with sacrilegeour rituals of lust and labour

it is the same incommunicadothe same swearing by coalin the dark alleynothing had changedand nothing changes

68

In the eyes of my little sonI saw Kali dancing that daywithout words moving flamesbuilt the cross I lovedand his falling tears drove meto the little psalmsI read long long ago

he wanted me to go backto the yearning lonelinessand cried: “Papa, dua, pray”

perforced I closed my eyes to escapethe thorns of stained hours but

never knew he had reachedthe twilight ocean of love

it was a strange white sunsoftly closing on me like an angelmy son stood on his little legsby Christ and Mohammad, and Kalikissed us with her bloody lipsand Shiva guided my way through silencehomeward I returned a changed man

69

Move your oars faster, o boatmanI must rush to the bankbefore the sun diesand search my sonlost from the sacred precincts

move your oars faster, o boatmanI must catch the birdbefore it flees in the blueand I hear the duskempty in monotone

move your oars faster, o boatmanI must reach my homebefore the snakes of the river shroud my bedand my being is questionedby the silence of the watery night

70

After burning heat of MayI’d thought with rainswill come God’s gracegentle like new grass

but before little leaves fromcracks of the walls smiledgoats trampled the flower-bedsand grazed away all our dreams

71

The little paper boatsdrift on the surfacewithout concernthe wind blows

my little son playsunconcerned with the worldof drifting waterswe live in day and night

72

It’s utter helplessnesstrue, but to surviveone must be tamed

73

This momentvisits the darkalleys of my body

as a guest sleepslike my sonin my lap

74

The waves in me riselike thousand-hooded snakesstrike the shores:

the rock stands undisturbedthe shores don’t movethe sea returns

75

There is a wavewhich never reached

the shore:

it only pushedthe waves aheadand broke

76

I prune my thoughtsto write wellto be simply understood

I don’t wantto outwit my readersI am no celebrity

but they don’t want meto grow like a treespreading branches

they appoint a gardenerto prune my limits:my shades are uncomfortable

77

A poemelusive like a butterflyis the dynamicsof a culturea process of exchangea cultural artifactfascinatingstimulatingreshapingreader and creatorit incorporatesmultiplicityof modern manfluid, mobilemulticulturalmanipulatingmatrix of tonguesand patterns of languages

into a stable wholeof self awareness

78

Exploring its own limitsthe form manipulates relationshipbetween consciousness and self-consciousnessas in film flickering shadowsturn traditional metaphorsinto contemporary realities(or, separate art from lifein its quest for modernity)inviting audience to reflectacross cultures and countriesproffering society’s visionof itself for itselfmanifesting common humanity

79

What am I diggingin the graveyardof memory?a handful of imagesto create a new myth?or some space to bury my beingwith orisonsand burn every tomb?or sealthe faint flamethat used to burnwithin?the long darknessin the skullis twice terriblethan lifeI can’t weavegaudy messof dreams any more

80

A poet’s simplicityis misunderstood so I keep quietbut what ifmy silenceis misunderstood?