Ashok Niyogi

 

Rock

1

rock
firmly rooted
in shallow sea
waves angry
suicide bombers
splinter shards
momentum
creates
water spray
droplets
reach for sky
the ellipse
of gravity
all is quiet
interlude
before attack

2

rock
on grassy knoll
falling away
from great wall
mossy shade
houses ladybirds
stationary
never crosses
final divide
is infinite

3

rock
pregnant
overgrown with
pumpkin vine
silent food
for deep thought
we aught
to shush
eaglets’ cries
on overhang
below
waters flow
and I watch
tadpoles play

4

rock
engineered
to sit on rock
memorial gate
or shelter
from rain
chiseled hole
in the middle
primordial wheel
set of four
domesticated
to deal
difficult road
stubborn horse
born of rock

5

rock
joined forever
umbilical chord
to womb
of earth
passage
to volcanic fury
camouflaged
by water still
reflecting
blue from
transparent sky
inferno
will surface
like pus
on pock-marked whore
destruction galore
fossilized
trapped in lava
forever
prisoner time

6

rock
will split
will sing
will sting
inter
from dust
to dust
then begin

 

Please

Don’t wake me up yet,
I have one more song to write,
Then the flowers and incense,
The viewing of the inert head,
The death certificate.

Zombies jerk to well oiled motion,
Skin on soles is cold parchment,
Rub in some moisturizing lotion,
Sprinkle water on my hair,
So much static it stands on end.

I quite enjoy this center stage.
Northwards I am surely bound,
Can’t you see the reindeer horns
Beyond the crowd of moose and elk,
Those who make a Redwood steak.

Did you settle, in solemnity,
The matter of your absence from work,
Will corporate rules make an exception,
Or will it have to unfortunately be,
‘Leave without pay’?

I settled with my keyboard,
Telepathically across ether,
Now keys will rise and fall automatically,
The mouse has agreed to run a spell-check,
Magazine editors need not grieve,

Mediocre poetry will still get submitted,
To satisfy an insatiable fashion trend.
I will continue to transmit from Neptune,
Toiling under the miserable delusion
That I have one more song.

 

Arithmetic

It has been reported to me
That I was on the agenda
Of a summit in a geriatric house
Vertically inclined
Figuratively
Toward heaven

A robust seventy
Graphically reported
To a gasping eighty-three
My latest cirrhotic bleed
The futility of a hospital visit
‘Tut tut, I am not even fifty’

For the ‘poet-warrior’
It is frightening
How these numbers add up
Even as bawling children are born
We live on with chronic dysentery

The glory lies not in nutritious food
Nor does it in a self-inflicted wound
It is a joke that nurses smile at
It is in pain from injected vitamins
When all it takes is one more drink

Put on me my be-medalled uniform
Play for me my marching song
I will make silence my ultimate defense
And observe proper protocol
When I sit down to negotiate
Terms of surrender in your shopping mall

 

Mountains

It is so depressing when you weep.
You must learn to control your feelings,
Let me try to cheer you up.

Snowflakes waft from a windless sky,
Reflect back reflected light,
From the diffused moon,

Until the whole hillside,
Is landscaped virgin white,
Patterned black shadows from tall pines.

Tomorrow, out will come the sun,
Caterpillars will feed on evergreens,
Cocoons will split, butterflies will flit.

A gentle breeze will blow snow dust,
On your expectant face, tears will dry,
Eggs will fry and piping hot cinnamon tea.

Children at the school-bus stop
Will valiantly have fought, their daily battle
With the morning bath, and inevitably lost.

Around the bend, the river below
Will wink, at somber snowline still in shadow,
Pine needles will pollute the air

With madness that but lovers know.
That contrasts madness of admonitions.
Water maidens will balance vessels

On curvaceous hips that undulate,
To music frolicking on their lips,
The shepherd and his working dogs,

Will tend to their errant flock.

 

In Splendor

He sits in meditation,
Etched into an ice-face,
That never melts.

Man or tree or bird or bee
Cannot breathe,
He does not breathe.

Last night
Fresh snow
Powdered the crevasse.

And to his consort,
His footsteps mark
The right of way.

Tread with caution
Yeti,
You will shiver

At his anger.
Your myth will be banished
To shadows you dread.

On the dark side
Of his crescent moon,
It will be cold.

In desperation
You will say,
‘Whereabouts,

Is the Sea of Storms’?

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