Padma Devkota

I dreamt (please keep it hushed)
of a ripply mirror where the image of the sky
dropped a question mark: 'Who is? Who is? '
And the mirror said: "Sky is! Sky is! "
...

The air is fresh and green.
Between the trees
silence sounds a perfect melody;
the river's voiceless ripples gently tease
...

we filter our water before we drink it
we filter our air before we inhale it
we have yet to learn to filter
the news before we swallow it,
...

Free is the sky and free the heart
that pounds inside a dark, grey chest,
free is the raven, free and smart,
graced with pow’r and with wisdom blessed.
...

When I was idealistic and young,
I was Dr. Faustus:
ready to love any beauty for while,
willing to risk heaven for the mysteries of the world,
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Do old hearts die like embers gold to grey
losing their glow and warmth to slow decay?
Or is the eternal spark a deathless thing
that can relish even in frigid times
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A seed on fallow ground, a fresh sapling
caught between jumbo roots of spreading trees,
a jaundiced leaf that hangs loose on a bough,
a bud in unkempt garden invaded by weeds
...

Swimming has a beginning and an end. The depth
invites and lures my being with promises
of powerful potentialities, I dive into the trembling light
of blue enchantment to retrieve
...

Human laws are ever changing as the human heart explores
newer values while some remain what they are for evermore
so that truth is hard to grasp and it is hard to be quite sure
...

Contents

To the Reader
I. The Lord of Love
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The bush is known by the rose:
the rose that dances upon a thorny stem
with its colorful emotions
and its fragrant love
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The curse of night over
like a rock that breathes again
and feels the surge of sensation old as life
stretching her cramped limbs and cowered curves
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With a streak of fire the sun wrote on
the water a name that is eternal,
the water guarded jealously a tone of colour
and song that mingled with the waves,
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If only I could smooth all my ripples
and drive the hidden current of my soul
to wide seas beyond sight in soundless flow
through obscure paths hidden to searching eyes
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There is no language after death
no thought no culture no habit
discourse none no quarrels nor amorous speech
no deceitful words nor confused stammering
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All young girls who are yet single
And course along their lonely way
Dream each day to so commingle
With another to flow away
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What can severed wings achieve?
No victory for the old and fallen!
What can a wounded, dying bird
Do to regain what has been stolen
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In the race with time that ticks away with a steady pace
On tiny turtle legs of glory, discipline and grace,
My heart with joy has beaten much faster than my legs
Which linger, stop and run around a silly little peg.
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(hello truth!) I have convinced myself
that you are the only friend who loves me
and shows me what I truly am. I fractured
long, long ago into a vowel which fits
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When we returned, the house was full of dust
spread like a gray carpet to welcome home
very special people who, at last, must
like birds recall their nest though far they roam
...