(one)
Oh, beloved,
You shouldn’t speak of floods;
Frightened,
I would curl tight around you.
Shores are far, far away;
No bird is seen in the empty skies
With soil-stained beak,
Or an olive twig in the claws.

(Two)
Yonder days,
It was trunkful of kisses
I sent you;
Derailing stars
Masked into bunches of fruits
Hung in array on mountain trees

(Three)
The sweet dried figs
And dates from deserts;
And the colours of dreams and jewels
Mined in fathoms.
Hadn’t someone said
That shades where fig trees
Wouldn’t bear fruits will come;
Saplings of ages and dreams
Would lose their seasons;
Check dams would be made in oases;
And deserts would be spread over mountains?

(Four)
I know you have preserved my kisses;
Love can be great floods,
Or steep falls,
Or even oceans.
Still I knew then and always:
Love would remain uneroded.

(Five)
You swam in the endless empires
Angel hadn’t seen;
You flowed smooth in the torrents
Where zebras bathe and game.
I saw the foot steps
You left on the hills
Where coffee shrubs had flowered,
And in the fields
Where tiny flowers bloomed,
Spreading fragrance of love and sweat.
Still I knew then and always:
Love is an eternal sprout,
It never ceases to flow.

(Six)
At last we rejoin now.
Oh, beloved,
You shouldn’t speak of floods;
Let us speak only about love;
About changing springs and summers;
Let us kiss intense love,
And, then shrink into bright-lit stars;
Let us dart as arrow stars
To the lovers of times to come.

Next Poem of C P Aboobacker in this issue