Naina Agarwal

The daily humdrums,  Ignoring rhythm in monotony;  Weaving patterns in the maze,  Of those black eyes where night meets the sea. Like the sound of temple bells,  Of the rivulet, anklets,  Like the smell of ocean,  Smell of coffee, of perspiration,  Summer wind,  Song of a woodpecker,  And rain.  Take a single grave on the hilltop of a deserted island,  Or a young girl collecting sea shells, Unpainted lashes,  Illusions, and glances,  Orange ember of coal.  Twilight or Dawn. Like the colour of cactus when it rains,  Colour of void.  The death of hibiscus on the eve of its birth, or mayflies.  Of honeybee. The taste of lies on the tongue,  Or hunger pangs, blood,  Vow.  And Salt. Have you noticed the vibrations in my fingerprints? Or the horns on swans?  Mother beating her infant when he doesn’t cry? Fifty thousand mourners; Vibrations w...

Not so long ago, In the night o n the street;  I saw a star bright,  Like your eyes t hat I now see. The Lamps then suddenly In the night o n the street;  Shut them eyes,  Like a maiden i n her sleep. Then slowly in the night,  Crept the Dark o n the street;  Holding me in terror,  Like a calf i n lion’s den would be.  And maybe I’d lost  If not for that star o n the street;  Engulfed in the Dark,  Like a vessel i n the sea. But the bright of that star,  Like your eyes t hat I now see;  Showed me the path  In the night o n the street. And so I came home, Like a mariner f rom the sea;  Away from the Dark,  In that night o n that street.  ***