Last updated: 04/30/2007 03:03 PM
The Forbidden Apples ~ To Madhu ~
Now I re-cognize that day was fated in the crypts of time pre-ordained in the visions of eternity the aeons floating on in Honsulu, London as you and I so closeby yet so far away. The late morning was light: Beyond the road the field of yellow flowers then the infinite sky. The sky was always there "SkyWay" was where we first chanced on our long way. In my labyrinth memorabilia that morning lies engraved with an aimless purity ~ Your impeccable home was as much mine : From the great cycles circularly we return ~ The furniture the familiar symmetries created clean spaces for our vast journey: the wordless word was thick in the circulating air ~ It was as if we knew each other for ever I wonder now why I didn't tell you you were beautiful which of course you were. You were in the kitchen I engulfed the door your hand was all flour the air had your faint smell ~ You said you never have breakfast, but will have it that day with me ~ You spoke sonorously over the fried eggs and toast~ british accent but the tones were from the land of the five rivers The moments were whole perfect I watched and listened I had nothing more to offer ~ Then your personal album with the nostalgic burden of iridiscent private memories that constitute you. When I saw your photograph in an Odissi garment sure enough I said, "You must continue to dance". The parting moments lie blurred into oblivion: Really there was no need for me to leave ~ Yet, overwhelmed with joy, I left. But my precious memory is your backyard~ the fierce sunlight, on the many fallen apples, red, yellow, greenish red, scattered around the lone tree. I asked you why you never picked them : You said nobody wanted them ~ I re-cognize today long long ago I had played Adam to your Eve ~ Then the apples in our garden were not forbidden. circa1990 Note~ "SkyWay" is a Hotel in Honsulu, London. "The land of five rivers", is literally Punjab in India. The five rivers being Ravi, Jhelum, Sutlej, Chenab and Beaz which confluent to become the river Sindhu(Indus). This poem is about a possible beautiful relationship that fatally faded into evanescence. The poem was written ten years after the event. |