Freezing Child
A Burial at Ornans
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Who is this creator of women bodies capturing their seas in color red and green? Who is this carver whispering story of her grandmother’s nakedness in a market of men that want to control air? This fragile decomposing brush, what does it want from me?
I am but a repititing offender, traveling back and forth between a restricted root of mine and a foreign city holding me by my heavy neck asking me for ransom of love. This repeititing offender of winters pretending to take a loan from sun of the sea.
The seaside window is golden, it is coated with beauty of my lover. But my dreams are only of the emptiness of snow. Mountains mine, and not mine, have casted a spell on me. Their bare magic takes me to the temple door of my goddess again and again. Guide is ahead of me warning me of the cheetah, and I am following him downhill to the village hosting our ghosts.
Thousands and thousands of glass vessels of intoxication keep getting empty.
Thousands and thousands of black ravens die in the backwaters.
Another sip of poison of heaven. Another demise without cigarettes.
Thoughts of her building castles without me. My desire, only her pen.
Thoughts of him tilting his body to give me a shape. This owner, my sky, my cage.
We must be lost in the brown naked forest of abandoned birches, you and me. Two innocent doves caught in the smoke of the world. But your letter reached me. And I am sewing it around my bed of nights now. I am holding it as our evidence of poetry before we hang ourselves.
The descendant poet talks to masters of past holding our freezing child in hand.
V Paliwal
