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Balachandran V
Behind the rectangular glass case
A bent head, lit sideways by a lamp
A lens, stuck into the socket of the right eye
A forceps in hand, drawing out
The innards of a dead watch.
Tickers tick loud
Tolling, the impending doom.
Watches lie about
In various states of disembowelment.
Old, huge clocks hang in the walls
Like Capuchin monks in the catacombs.
How precise! His fingers wield the tiny tool
And stab it into the underbelly of my watch.
I stand still -
My time is at his mercy.
Like blinking lights, on-off, on-off
Flickering lamps, wicks burning out
Nobody to pour in love
Nobody to keep it alive.
What if the lights fade out
And die,
What if the lamp goes dry
What does it matter to one
Born blind....
She cleans the place
Light up the lamps
Dance two steps
& Then hush all together
In fear of onlookers.
Night is wary
From the melody
Howls & giggles
Contrasting eerily.
She's in wonder at the world,
The world is in wonder at her.
The caves are bounding,
the prettiest things are always in hiding.
The words you said grow faint;
The lamp you lit burns dim;
Yet, still be near your faithless friend
To urge and counsel him.
Still with returning feet
To where life's shadows brood,
With steadfast eyes made clear in death
Haunt his vague solitude.
So he, beguiled with earth,
Yet with its vain things vexed,
Keep even to his own heart unknown
Your memory unperplexed.
If I can bear your love like a lamp before me,
When I go down the long steep Road of Darkness,
I shall not fear the everlasting shadows,
Nor cry in terror.
If I can find out God, then I shall find Him,
If none can find Him, then I shall sleep soundly,
Knowing how well on earth your love sufficed me,
A lamp in darkness.
You street of sorrows bending
Over your golden lamps in the evening;
Dark street that is very silent,
And everywhere the same:
Elsewhere there is song and riot,
Like golden fireflies flickering,
Elsewhere the crane's gaunt muscles
Tug the city up to the stars.
But who in the dawn should come near you?
There are dry leaves rattling behind him.
And who should come in the noonday?
There are shadows that squat on the pave.
And who should come in the evening?
There is one: a ship in dark waters.
And who should come at nightfall,
To feel cold hands at his heart?
Turn down the lamp; my life is done.
The fitful moments drift to ease —
Rosemary for the dreams that died.
And mignonette for cherished hopes.
Turn down the lamp; my soul gains life;
I rise above the narrow pale
Of cities bought with gold and slime,
I spread my sorrow strengthened wings
Above the armies of the world,
In quest of kingdoms built in youth.
The hour of death that men call life
Is closing as a troubled dream,
The flame within my lamp is low,
I seek eternal liberty.
The freedom of the endless sky.
Good nurse, enfold my arms.
Hollow rang the house when I knocked on the door,
And I lingered on the threshold with my hand
Upraised to knock and knock once more:
Listening for the sound of her feet across the floor,
Hollow re-echoed my heart.
The low-hung lamps stretched down the road
With shadows drifting underneath,
With a music of soft, melodious feet
Quickening my hope as I hastened to meet
The low-hung light of her eyes.
The golden lamps down the street went out,
The last car trailed the night behind;
And I in the darkness wandered about
With a flutter of hope and of dark-shut doubt
In the dying lamp of my love.
Two brown ponies trotting slowly
They have watered the street,
It shines in the glare of lamps,
Cold, white lamps,
And lies
Like a slow-moving river,
Barred with silver and black.
Cabs go down it,
One,
And then another.
Between them I hear the shuffling of feet.
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks.
The city is squalid and sinister,
With the silver-barred street in the midst,
Slow-moving,
A river leading nowhere.