I scour the vacant alleyways
of darkness for some trace of you,
grasping my miniature lit candle,
the only aloofness I hold from the night.
Are we so separate, these shadows & I:
for three years' incessant nocturne
I have not seen the light of day
and I waver in the black realm with my dwindling flame.
If you joined me in this formlessness
could I again find my way
from its murmuring domain,
or are you too a refugee held here against your will?
I toyed with matches when I met you,
their light blazed across the heavens;
it was brighter than the day,
now the dripping wax coats my fingers in stiffness.
What poisoned or forbidden apple did I bite
that I was banished to this kingdom,
where no light nor love
nor dawn dares venture. . . ?
I am chilled,
voiceless in the night.
You are the statue
the bronze-cast woman,
Your lucid eye
pierces the clouds,
the gift burns
a compulsive gamble:
transmit celestial light,
pin it down.
give it to me
in a little black box,
a hollow sea sound
but I know what's inside.
Is it you,
a shriek, a cry
or the blackness
in your deepest eye
ring the grave
father and daughter
mourn the missing one.
in watery knells
the death bell.
She is over
wash away in sheaves.
in their beds
All pieces copyright © 1998 Lynley Lys [ email@example.com ]. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1998 Satya Palani. All rights reserved.