Fists That Turn Like Keys
Aishwarya Iyer __________________ [1] Splitting Seed How often must we arise from this seed Yellow, nutted, moon-spent, tree-withered, The seed splits and leaves climb out, thus flow tears, Time spreads like disease, the swell of mood hangs Over split seed— Hands, legs, tongue, hair—bodies roam about in space The city is abluster, automobiles now have faces, The city where eyes wander, where stones are broken, Where language has no home: ‘Drive Slow’, ‘Kanti Sweets’, ‘Herculean Builders’, ‘Pasta Street’; the city where the hand betrays the leg, the mouth betrays the eye, where the ground breaks like seed, but nothing climbs out, thus flow tears— Between us great distances hang in the smallest of words: ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘of course’; sometimes dictionaries are the end of meaning; the garbage dump got cleared; we ache to know wherefrom we speak; how often must we arise from this seed? Afternoon flows out of the sun’s tongue: the day is some kind of speech. *** [2] Iggalur, or Far from the City The fields are woven from hands, air, water and sun, The eyes of stalks gleam in the afternoon The trunks of trees offer vertical hold Far from the city, from the sleep of human beings, Time goes into the body of plants So full is this passage that night too is left undreamt Time is eaten—and plants grow. *** [3] After Paul Celan Keep your words married to their sense, the sense married to absence. Don’t lead them too far astray, hollowed, searching for their point of emergence. But if they search for their shadows, let them, for shadows are what bind them to breath. A word is a stone without its breath. *** [4] Meeting A meeting like one where the sky and earth meet is illusory, we all know The sky and earth walk together in their meeting Their meeting being a not-meeting; Our bodies are held in curtains: The azaan, the temple bells, the chants next door leave a gold rush that is too bright on them. Our bodies, when they meet, must walk together The legs with legs Hands with hands My language cupped in yours— That gold dust torn off must envelop us in a far circle Minting fresh moments like chants. No, our bodies shall not chime, they shall not sing They shall not announce any god Like the blush of sky and earth in embrace at sunset Our bodies will shiver warm at the passing of time Mark day and night, become sun and moon. They shall be held in curtains too. *** [5] Make Time Make time Make time from the joyous tinny screams of children Bathing in afternoon sun Sew time from the leaves holding out to the afternoon Belting the terraces of low houses Rising like invisible ears The crow looks askance. The truth is here. Make space for the shearing of time The glass-pulp of action froths to the top The dove that floated in its sky will be lost *** [6] Scene from a First-floor Window Over the treetops comes a surge that swallows the eyesight of dreamers The construction workers have wet their feet in ditch water; one lights a cigarette and launches into a tale for the other They sit on a slab and wait for the afternoon darkness to bleed; the koel has come visiting, but you almost forget to hear her, the green of the trees runs into her voice; The rattle of implements has a sharper sting; clotheslines become forlorn and balconies begin to be besieged; The earth had been asking her due with iron stillness Now way’s made to cure her of her bitter agony. *** [7] We are in flames… We are in flames Very often the evening spars And the night is a cauldron for little fires The splinters come from everywhere Sparks dripping about the construction worker The crackling voices of playing children The television makes other fires in homes; You and I are hands aclap Your words are fists that turn like keys The locks are between us. *** [8] Name And that blesséd word with no meaning—who will utter it? —Agha Shahid Ali stars vanishing into nothingness stop and turn back to participate in the utterance of your name that becomes the element of time your name breaks into numerous syllables and with it brings suffering to sound the stars race against the shatter, against time, holding your name together your name engulfs the splicing of days the morning, a dewdrop from your name the night, a pod for your name your name bristles under the earth leaving the ground groundless far from the concert of stars fall crystals of duration hours and days spent in your name *** [9] Flesh Which kind of flesh have you found pierced in the encounter? You and I, suppurating leaves falling from a naked tree Cut off, with blood sap We were never joined, and now finding our midribs in line Our flesh disappears, the green grows distant We have grown eyes __________________ adminhumanitiesunderground.org