Frigid Kiss Tears in Virgin's Breath by Kamalendu Nath (good novels to read in english txt) 📕

I remember within an early chapter
Of my life, during those burning-hot nights,
Laying on my back, on a water-sprinkled
Roof-top, taking in all those brightly blinking
Hordes, jockeying within the whole pitch-black-dome,
When a streak here, a streak there, would light up my
Wonderment of how could stars fall from up
There, over our heads, into oblivion;
(Enfolding eons drawn chapters, so briskly)

-

On this day, the last-but-one-chapter of the week,
A distant muffled-shot greets me, blended
In a cloud-cover gloom of this morn – to
Be serenaded by Ida

on its way
From a long run of painting the southern
Towns... And on this day – next; ending-chapter
Of the week, rain gauge shows two and three-fourth
Inches for a month supposed to be wet
But has been dry all these days, the last-but-
One-chapter month of the year… Touches me
On this day next, the beginning chapter
Of another week, that in late night is to
Turn the pages for the chapter next, for
The Leonid

meteor shower bloom,
Timing festivity of harvest soon
In synch with ending of the last chapter-
Month of the year with celebrations, so
As to redeem the follies of chapters
Past - welcome the first of the twelve anew…

Within later chapters of my life, in
This distant land of molested sky, I’ve
Gazed - up - hours before dawn, to witness
A meteorite shower – nothing - for long –
But then there - and - here; chapters with eons
Long, passing a show - in a last-but-one
Chapter glow, before end –is it a glorious
Annihilation? or just a transition?

So that’s how the one before the last dawns!
Housecleaning of sort and readying for the
Inevitability, that I wondered -
Efforts of filling with jewels in life’s run -
Now so inconsequential it seems, since
All’s shed - gained from the chapters gone to
Chapter’s end – embrace the realms,
The realms of star-dust…

8. Petrified those on Road

(Published in Worlds Within – Worlds Beyond; June, 2008)
At this crossroad fear crawled in unaided
at the conversations of eating flesh -
I’ve chosen the path not straight but on left
where sights brought the evidence embedded.

Bird’s-eye-view: a mosaic interlay
of half a dozen or so skeletal
arrangements of varying shapes, gradual:
starting from left, large sea-horse curved dead lay -

spaced were nautilus-shapes and other thin
mummified scants - fixed, flattened, grim collage
of artful elements; I pass visage
in hurried trots, when I catch the passing

form on a bicycle with inquiry -
wearing intimidation that lights up my
fears: if he be the one of those idling by,
waiting for piece of my flesh in a hurry.

The fear invoked by repeat art clusters
that might have been once life-form’s crowning gems
but then lost not on purpose but of them;
as we both turned at different purpose -

in my screaming I dreaded thought in his
as I sought escape back to the main road;
from this fearful fear’s competing abode
to seek a second chance; avoid scenes like this.





- Advent of Solstice
Frees the New Hampshire winter
To freeze them tears in -

The
Next Three Months

9. As in Winter’s Dance

Each time
it comes romping in new virgin fold,
barely hiding its flings
in euphoric swirls, holding sleeves of
wild wind cold, in steady
downpour, covering all in its
path with a blanket of
soft white dreamy flowers, in bone chill
finality that begs for
anything but so serene, so pure!

And on limbs, here and there, lay etched
ripped oozing fresh love bites
on young maples at moose height
and on bushes – scratches -
as in some smaller mammals gnawing,
to confirm hot markings
that’d underscore love-violence.

And as if to underscore this point, there’d
lay on virgin spread – on blank cold
compressed white cloud quilt,
in patches, soaked red drops,
timing them canid’s life yearnings.

And of its own will, it’ll roll again,
barely hiding its flings, and when
it’s time -not niggardly, lift us out
of our blessed chagrins!

10. Full-Moon Eclipse

Radiating spoke marks on
Fresh snow –
Uplift print
Of flapping
Wings…

Shivering I catch the
Night’s
Standing
Under the streaming Clouds -
One-third…
Three-fourth…
Slicing
Night’s
Heart –

Oh the Moon!
Once so glorious!
Gleaming
From
Such a distance,
Floating
in
Mother’s
Glow –

Beyond bounds,
Soothing
Laughter
Lost for good…

- I shiver at Erath shade, that
Enfolds
My being
Within
Unearthly stark wings –
As in heavenly bodies
Enveloping
In
This
Nights
Deadening
Sorrow;
Its
Silent
Screams; folding me in its
Tortured dreams…

11. Snow-Shopping Rainbow

In shimmering spectrum I see
Colors
Split through snow-flake prisms,
Embracing nude
Branches up in flames!

Expected guest I stay seated on
Granite-railing
Of this porch, that’s cold -
Facing
Locked door
Of a long standing invitation!

In time glory lapses -
Lacking an
Embrace from host,
Hesitance splits wanting
That Pierces promises;
Shattering snow-shopping rainbow!

12. January’s Glory

A fresh new start -
born out of a year old labor;
in promises of fanciful endeavor
of past hangovers, of wrenching anticipations
poised for a deep dive in this January’s glory!

She – the mind of a lassie
in us all, bathing in sunshine or
cloud veil; of winter-freeze or spring-warmth;
snow or falling ice; even rain
in love-hate conflict that defines January’s glory!

This be the month
born of snow castle heart, flake by flake, snatched
from swirling wind or a blizzard on call; or
on occasions straight they fall - those flakes;
breath of a cruel January fury!

And then the youth in us
find ski, snowboard or snowshoe;
on occasion as a dope stray without hat or coat
to dare dire fate, or in snowmobiles roar
lit fire: head, cheek, nose; challenging January’s fury!

This month that falls in mid
October and April, in a span of winter
mist; a transition in life’s longing and grace;
while frost-heave readies to mock traveled roads
in a rough ride to unfold, beyond January’s story!

13. Snow Prints

This corner of the woods
that I seldom travel
now seemed just right without

- thoughts of unauthorized
violations bubbled

the snowshoes – past few months
of freeze-thaw peek-a-boo
had contented with being
transparent either in
falling from the sky or in
its compact gathering
on the frozen ground – just

- through this encroachment
that only this season

now around ankle deep
amenable to a
snow-shoeless walk, mainly
in navigational low

- in snow covered sleepy
land, despite lacking much

bushes and shrubberies…

I was thrilled in coming
across an intact suet-cage
barely peeking out this corner of
black-bear dragged booties, past

- of a snow-pack could bear
the task of preserving

and retreating that lost
treasure for my other-half
in gloved hand, I come across
this fresh depressions on
white – that stuns my casual
exploration; for the
unexpected intrusion

- story of a weighted print.

not far from our log-home,
on a land, posted quite
clearly, and so I thought
to trace its origin
without stepping on it…

Doubts flared my bewildered
Apprehensions when it
Seemed that these prints, so fresh had
Followed this untrodden
Path that I was on! And as suddenly
My fear-jolted anger
Sinks in this obvious
Revelation of the seeker’s
Confusion - maker of these fresh snow-prints

!

14. January 8 - Two Thousand 8

Laced twinkling diamonds littered the freezing
Clear night sky, unlike when draped
In gloom borne heavy mist sigh;
Not so much as the other seasons, but
It’s the Spring-forbs that’d decide, if it was
Condemned to die - below 4 pounds:

Is it time to be born

?

Granted, it is massive meltdown in
Nonstop rain, from awning carapace,
Unloading this miscue: January thaw –
But it’s no time for a June Fawn!
Way before its time; not even
All antlers have been cropped -

It’s no time, no time to be born

.

Just passing the year-long high
In barrages emptying filled night-sky -
Upset primary winners passing by
Lighting the hopes of some
Dimming the dreams of others
Skimming the cream off ocean white -

But nowhere the Doe’s to be seen

…

Despite a gleaming burst out of waning Sun;
The placental remains and few blood drops
Glazing the not yet defeated snow cushion
Nuzzling of a new born rolled ice sinew
I wondered if it would rise in search:

This 8-pound huge eyed Fawn, for the udder

-

Would my grippers help me see it across?

15. Crawling City Grime

All brown and gray is back
Just in a matter
Of days, nay hours - as if
There never was this
Pure white - a
Cushion made of flakes upon
Flakes of soft tender dreams;
This respite from that daily grind,
That has floated in a
Pure white innocence, painting
Roof tops past
Roof tops and all in between
Which in turn the ploughs have
Wedged in, back - in a sinful
Rubbish grind -
Back to the reality, as the coarse
Deposits swallow
Dreamland promises into mere facts
Of ploughed out back, in
Black, to our driven grimy lives!

16. Paralyzed Closeness

What a gathering! What tight fit –
all participants saw to it:
not to move or stir, but just sit.

Just stay frozen without motion,
stacked on each other in full devotion,
where went freedom, held no notion.

Weren’t they floating free, up in air?
Free