Cashew Trees, Late January
There's an aroma when you get near them,
As the wind wafts their ponied ear- ring leaves,
Tossing, the filled maroon pink
Spindles waiting to light up their
Secret chandeliers.
Among their Curved spines petal-besotted,
the Chipmunks nestle, they sing songs
Of colored rains of hazel nuts,
the Joys of plumping flesh,
still a secret for the far away bees.
Quiet breath of rising light is here,
all in sunflower,
as upon late January mist,
beauty shapes its marvels,
vying with coral,
emerald and sapphire,
Only to gift its finest treasures
wrought secretly all night,
carelessly upon sand and stone
Like a philanthropist
Bejeweling earth.
Kamakhya Temple, Guwahati
Or,
Birds of Sacrifice
The early clouds in the sky
Reflect last evening's red
Upon the oil stone.
The morning is a wind sail
Upon a sea
Of prayer.
There comes a devotee.
He comes to darken
The red upon the lips
Of his goddess.
A tiny bird,
With its beak in awe of the wide earth, snugly clasped in his hand.
(Gopikrishnan Kottoor’s recent poetry appears in Best Asian Poetry, Yearbook of Indian Poetry, Acumen, Madras Courier, and Converse among others. His recent awards include prizes at the Chandigarh Literary Society, and Wingword. He runs the online poetry journal www.chipmunk.co.in
Blog: http:gopikottoor.blogspot.com)
