Ram Krishna Singh
A Selection of Tanka
She is no moon yet she drifts like the moon, takes care of him from the sky-- meets him for a short, waxing leaves him for a long, waning Yearning to meet him she turns a silk-worm spinning love-silk in cold night-- stands in a shade melting tears like a candle, drop by drop Gods couldn’t change the rhythm of the body and its needs: erotic scars stick-- after three decades love waves tense the flesh and rock the night |
Locked in the shadows of unrolled curtains her love in the lone boudoir: she plays tunes on the guitar flowers fade at the windows At the river she folds her arms and legs resting her head upon the knees and sits as an island Swirling spiral of her skirt spills tides of dream and memory: I breathe fire in the dance forgetting bends and twists |
Before going to bed she looks too sad to have any sweet dream: the lonely lamp glints no love and no star peeks through the curtains The wind lifts her curved nudity hidden in the water curtain: I touch the strings that whisper love in each falling drop The smile you weave splits the sun I lose my direction in clouds that cover the banks darkening the white of the lake moon kissed |
A Second Selection of Tanka...
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What should I do
about the mornings that couldn’t be: now fog controls appearance of the sun A cloud-eagle curves to the haze in the west skimming the sail on soundless sea Standing at the edge I long to float with waves and wave with instant wind: on the dream water’s breast I read tomorrow’s wonder |
The room has her
presence every minute I feel she speaks in my deep silently Crazy these people don’t know how to go down with the swirl and up with the whirl but play in the raging water I fear the demons rising from my body at midnight crowding the mind and leading the soul to deeper darkness |
Exhausted she sleeps
unaware of my presence this warm night carefree I croon my spring song alone and fill the void with new dreams The chilly wind blows to freeze my feet and fingers tonight I can’t rise and silence the whisperings storming the vacant room Looking at her face for the glint of her nose-pin or rise of renku they couldn’t finish but form in their eyes together |
SmallnessI live in a crowd of fakes
smallness rises with age my mind has ceased to think new metaphors hardly happen hunger keeps me awake all night I mitigate minginess the inner lives emptied and filled with fresh stresses too many fault lines run through to make sense of the divide my passion itches and prompts I nuzzle the virtual too it’s the same virus aground the same hackers that hurt the vigor and rigor of the new, left, or pushed behind whatever the remedy wounds take deaths to heal |
HappinessDreams puzzling smallness of waking I can’t live the child’s circumcision promise of happiness
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