Poetry Tuesday: A Love Poem

By Vidya, in what is now India, from. . . let’s just say a long time ago.

The luck is yours that you can talk about
Your lover’s playful glance, his words and touch.
For me, I swear that once he puts his hand
Upon my girdle, I remember nothing.

;o)

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Poetry Tuesday: Next Morning

Someone who probably didn’t want to remain anonymous wrote this in seventh-century India.

Next morning
When a damnfool parrot–
right before her parents–
starts to mimic
last night’s cries of love,
the girl leaps up,
blushing,
clasps her hands to
start the children dancing–
jangle of her bracelets
drowning out
the parrot’s calls.

;o)

Travel Tuesday: On Makeshift Bedding

By Vidya, somewhere between 500 and 1000 AD in India.

On makeshift
bedding in the cucumber
garden, the hilltribe
girl clings to
her exhausted lover.
Limbs still chaffing
with pleasure, dissolving
against him she
now and again with
one bare foot
jostles a shell necklace
that hangs from a
vine on the fence–
rattling it
through the night,
scaring the jackals off.

;o)

Poetry Tuesday: Cosmology

Anonymous Sanskrit, circa 750.

The goddess Laksmi
loves to make love to Vishnu
from on top
looking down she sees in his navel
a lotus
and on it Brahma the god
but she can’t bear to stop
so she puts her hand
over Vishnu’s right eye
which is the sun
and night comes on
and the lotus closes
with Brahma inside.

;o)

Poetry Tuesday: What He Said

By Oreruravanar, in India approximately 2000 years ago.

Her arms have the beauty
of a gently moving bamboo.
Her eyes are full of peace.
She is faraway,
her place not easy to reach.
My heart is frantic with haste,
a plowman with a single ox
on land all wet
and ready to seed.

;o)

Poetry Tuesday: All I Was Doing Was Breathing

Mirabai, 16th century India

Something has reached out and taken in the beams of my eyes.
There is a longing, it is for his body, for every hair of that dark body.
All I was doing was being, and the Dancing Energy came by my house.
His face looks curiously like the moon, I saw it from the side, smiling.
My family says, “Don’t ever see him again!” And implies things in a low voice.
But my eyes have their own life; they laugh at rules, and know whose they are.
I believe I can bear on my shoulders whatever you want to say of me.
Mira says: Without the energy that lifts mountains, how am I to live?

;o)

Poetry Tuesday: The Soul

Lal Ded, a Kashmiri poet from the 14th century

The soul, like the moon,
is new, and always new again.

And I have seen the ocean
continuously creating.

Since I scoured my mind
and my body, I too, Lalla,
am new, each moment new.

My teacher told me one thing,
Live in the soul.

When that was so,
I began to go naked,
and dance.

;o)