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

).

I see in its coming the warnings, the
physical handicaps that would call
for rescue needs
brought upon by the inevitable - a
need to drive down our guests to catch a
plane, through the flooded streets

in this downpour and swirling wind, pregnant with
voluptuous ocean spirits, rebelling
the winter retreat.
Fronting on ice-dam wall that should dampen
flow, in an outburst it has risen above floodplains,
engulfing the streets that lay low.

As we drown in despair, in loosing the
use of amenities, without the electricity
thrown in stark dark.
That the Generator’s limited help
couldn’t uplift candle & lamp wicks’ niggardly
flaming contrast –
(momentarily

),

but despite the flooded mountain roads, forced
to retreat on it as gravel street was cut in
ditch by water flow;
expecting least a sight of rapids over
the bridge, once a lowly brook, now in
overwhelming wrath,

arrested my entry to our abode
that despite my fear I knew I needed to fight
through currents or fall,
through erosions, electricity and
all, the flooding rushed in memorably
as spring promises stalled
(momentarily

).

Unfolding the drenching wintry mix set,
under a darkened canopy, filled in wind
blasts - to and fro.
Grinding deep cracks like the ninety-eight ice
storm, will leave this mark, upon us, even
if we do not get

to greet another like this, to add up all Nature’s
calamities, beyond our comprehensibility.
Even if foretold,
couldn’t fold the lake or river dredging beneath
the highway, beneath its girdle spite marked
emergence banshee sight… so cold…
(momentarily

)

28. Nature of Warmth

In Candlelight
beyond moonlit night,
this silhouette
framed in serene gaze,
neither fluttering
nor wide open, these
sculpted eyelids
dripping with honey –
waiting,
yet not craving;
in desire -
hot burning touch,

not in changing
the profiles
of that lingering
feeling,
lingering in moments of
joyous healing -

the feeling
that washes over as
nectar -
nectar sweet dream;

fill to the brim and
then waits -
awaits your trembling
lips -
awaits expectantly,
awaits divine -
awaits your charm, rising
out of a winter freeze.

29. I of Water

Ice -cubes, -crystals, -flakes or in an unknown
anointed form, in which rest the life-germs,
in sudden happenstance, happens to melt
as molten lava, gushing forth live-birth.
A gracious flow: noise, jocularity
reverberates birth serendipity.

As in a stream-, river- flow, pursuing life’s
greater causes, towards pond, lake and ocean.
Instead, the flow flows upstream in shallows
where no refuge waits from winter’s setting
or in a long run from winter’s dreary assault,
where the flow could hide beneath iced-top;
instead, now in slow motion, drawn in winter
end flow: coercing, caressing, confronting.

Leaving far behind in wash up cracked banks,
skirting amid stones, shrubberies blocking flow;
cajoling through hidden brushes, stones, stumps;
imprinting mud waves, flowing without much
care, touching them all, now at its end, end in
it’s loss – for renewal again to its original form -

reverberates birth serendipity;
a gracious flow: noise, jocularity;
as molten lava gushes forth live-birth
in sudden happenstance befalls the melt,
anoint that which invokes life-germs, held in
ice -cubes, -crystals, -flakes or in yet, unknown!

30. Nightie in Shreds

“Cattle ’seen, cattle

-” apparition says.
“Now, have them thirty

…” “Thirty of those

?”
Curious youth drifts in mosaic puns.
“Yes, thirty three really; counting new ones
free, out of mother’s womb, as freshly lays

.”

“From this window I enjoy seeing

,”
she says, "I’m that fortunate… pleasured
in moving to this farm

-” she fills in laughs;
“big-horn cattle grazing with three new calves;
in a life of farm-lass that I have been

…”

“But how can you possibly care these all;
all these barn stocks

?” “You mean these livestock

?”
“Yes, how can you, by yourself, care for all these?
Besides, you also harbor gander and geese

.”
“By measures that are simple and quite small

…”

A knowledge arises then, that she is of a pair
with a companion, but of age were both;
“oh, not much work in it

,” she fondly says,
“as seldom I find myself tied for days,
I pleasure in all effusive life’s care

…”

Her ponytail swings bright as gold and warm;
which transforms into other - another
female, not quite that old. Could, perhaps she
be the farm lady? Adorned in flimsy
nightie, cut wide under the pit of her arm.

When she rights up, her elbow shifts high,
rebelling white smooth bosom peek through
that the boy of hers, when ten months old - dead,
now stands there fourteen years or more instead:
signs, tilting his head up towards the sky!

Tilting his head, drawing up his eyebrows,
pointing his fingers towards his own chest-
her to get the drift in ways he could state,
she lowers her hand closing armpit gate
in smiley, working-face, mellow as cow’s -

smiley working-face; she readies to go;
when he sees her long nightgown dangling in shreds
baring her thighs; he finds her flow in -
into another, who from scene unseen is
not of this time, but yet, he knows it to be so -

juxtaposed holding hands as one, God bless!
Pirouetting in air, as she disappears from that scene,
draped in flimsy, translucent nightie-
he sees the bare back retreat, and with a frown
wonders - how could his breath have been out of that flesh?

Publication Date: 01-03-2010

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