A red dragonfly
on the port facing Buddha
resting on his heart
prancing about
when problems arise
it grows warm-hearted
Tag: Poem
Ember fire
Like weak moonlight
night after night
dancing smoke of embers
and now the scent punishes me!
the leaves rustling
in the night-wind
tombstones for your voice
Siren Song
Under the shallow stream
On that vacant riverbed
I remember red seeds in the clay
Who spilled these rubies
Like the light on a starry night
Among the snails on the pebbles
Where snakes take to water
But fish do not swim
Upon that empty bank
My heart is trapped
Oh Village of my ancestors
Whose fables are still sung
When I am with my people
I am alone in elephant grass
Dusty breezes folding them
My family a rainstorm
But in the shaky soil
My heart is strung
In the shallow mirror of water
My reflection looks back
Though I live far away
In the rituals of this land
Ancestors are called
Around a bonfire in the night
I, a tree alone, in grassland
Over the mountains tall
Have heard a siren call
Fight
A whisper between friends
turning sour
a book in my hand
new people in my life
breathing my air
Glacier
Frozen in place, held icy by your sight
immured in water, white light cutting right through
I shudder heavy in the cold and murky depth
I awake my skin tingling, the shivers and shuddering
scars and warm blood rushing, feeling the cutting edge
in every breath in, burning rushes of thought and lively delight
my mind quiet, I smile back.
Homelands
In the shape of shadow
In the light from windows
With the motionless trees
On the afternoons without wind
I only imagine the dusty, dry grass
And memory fills in the hills and monsoon
I remember my people, not friends,
Barefoot rivals on the rich red clay
In between the stone path shrubs
They smell of toddy
But we share a spirit, a history
Though from different sides
They will not forget that cruel division
Why did you take it? My language,
Misery, meaning, death
Like theirs, all in a village, for melennia
Better to be humble in your lands
Than fighting elsewhere
Isolation
They do not hear me, my voice is hoarse
I look at the mirrors and no one looks back
In the void I am empty, formless
In the silence, you lose your strength,
Your bones will break, your mind burns away
Slipping away, melting in an empty self
I have nothing left to say
Spider Crack
Up my arms
A shiver at the rustling
Sorting through the keys
We pause and smile
Shimmering in moonlight
Cool breeze swirls around the closed door
A spider with only a thread
Flying blind, I see spider cracks
I bought bright padlocks
For her backpack
A funeral, her first trip
Alone.
Sticking together
The memory of crashing water
where long ago the river
disentangled
no longer reaching
the dropping areca
and I return to the present
searching for end of the gumtape
The lands
The bare root of the plantations are white
like the hooves of the raiding deer
a crack of thunder in
this season of morning dew
more unfathomable than the waters
and clouds by the mountain slopes
between breaths, I burn.
Rijul Ballal 