The Long-Ago God

I remember when you were god
when you were Samson and Solomon
that whenever I looked at your face
you were a pyramid,
abutting the sky and luminescent like Polaris
with showers of light coloring your shadow
It was then
that the mere hint of your voice
ended my day-long aches
and it was then
that a gingerly touch from your hands
turned erstwhile gloom into blue sky
I remember when you were god
You were the breath of the Nile
flowing, flapping your wings
and generating perfection
It was then
that I cherished the day
when, I too, could approximate you
I remember when you were god

A Valentine to My Wife

Accept, dear girl, this little token,
And if between the lines you seek,
You'll find the love I've often spoken—
The love my dying lips shall speak.

Our little ones are making merry
O'er am'rous ditties rhymed in jest,
But in these words (though awkward—very)
The genuine article's expressed.

You are as fair and sweet and tender,
Dear brown-eyed little sweetheart mine,
As when, a callow youth and slender,
I asked to be your Valentine.

What though these years of ours be fleeting?
What though the years of youth be flown?
I'll mock old Tempus with repeating,
"I love my love and her alone!"

And when I fall before his reaping,
And when my stuttering speech is dumb,
Think not my love is dead or sleeping,
But that it waits for you to come.

So take, dear love, this little token,
And if there speaks in any line
The sentiment I'd fain have spoken,
Say, will you kiss your Valentine?

A Divine Rapture

E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoin:
So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

E'en so we met; and after long pursuit,
E'en so we joined; we both became entire;
No need for either to renew a suit,
For I was flax, and He was flames of fire:
Our firm-united souls did more than twine;
So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

If all those glittering Monarchs, that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all:
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world 's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine.

LOVE

[I loved her for that she was beautiful]

I loved her for that she was beautiful;
And that to me she seem'd to be all Nature,
And all varieties of things in one:
Would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise
All light and laughter in the morning; fear
No petty customs nor appearances;
But think what others only dream'd about;
And say what others did but think; and do
What others dared not do: so pure withal
In soul; in heart and act such conscious yet
Such perfect innocence, she made round her
A halo of delight. 'Twas these which won me;—
And that she never school'd within her breast
One thought or feeling, but gave holiday
To all; and that she made all even mine
In the communion of love: and we
Grew like each other, for we loved each other;
She, mild and generous as the air in spring;
And I, like earth all budding out with love.

Po3M Of Th3 DaY

Arranged Marriage

Sickly-sweet jasmine coils in her
serpentine braid,
bathed in rose water and mystic oils,
swathed in scarlet silk and burnished in gold.

Mirrored orbs of eyes lined with kohl
to ward off the evil eye,
startled bindi marks her forehead,
center of her being, as one with the universe.
Rich stains seep through ivory skin,
of crushed henna, as an unending maze.

Sunburst marigolds squat on dewed grass
hearing hushed whispers upon mumbled mantras.
Stiff old aunts stiff in starched saris,
crusty vermilion in their hair as
flaking proof of marriages that last.
Watching young girls dance to flute melodies,
plotting upon future brides for sons.

Downcast timid bridal eyes harboring
resentment within
an ebbing heart.

Hina Qidwai

My PoeTrY Of Th3 DaY

The Snowman

"Our snowman will be beautiful," we say,
Forgetting we're too old to be so happy.
Our bodies made bulky by heavy winter coats,
We grin like children, giddy with the cold.
Our frozen fingers clumsy, we mold him,
Sculpt him out of fresh, white snow,
Until that moment when the body is so cold
You can't imagine ever being warm again.
Hot chocolate sounds so inviting.
"We'll finish him tomorrow," we promise
And hurry inside.
But there are some things I don't understand,
Like love and war and weather.
And tomorrow, a warm front moves in--
From one of the sultry southern places
We planned to visit on our honeymoon.
Moves in, moves out,
Taking our snowman with it
And leaving us a puddle
Of good intentions.