Buffalo

These buffalo live just down the road from me. One day, early, I had such a surprise because eight of them were walking straight towards me. I didn't have my camera that day. But this week when I went out early, I went in search of them.

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how days fall
this morning 5.30 too early for me but sleep was avoiding me
and pushed me out of bed

walk she said so I did
I walked to the river where the buffalo hang out– their horns
greeting the morning

I sit and watch
as a young steer gets pushy with the cow– old mothers who
humour him with heads

he’s leaning and shoving
and pushing with all his might and they just flick their heads
get bored and turn away

aerial life

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the tissu is hung
it wafts in the breeze
red like a great gash
it is soft and difficult
wrap yourself in it
roll it around your leg
fall into its arms
spin at the end
like a stellar top
the star Aldebaran
red Rohini
follow the sisters
in their flight
think yourself light
as helium float
your way to the top

Tamil

My first weeks in Chennai were spent drawing Tamil letters. I managed to find a children's reading book with pictures. It was like learning to write all over again. Most days I had the book out working my way through. Like Sanskrit, when consonants and vowels combine the letters change shape. As well as that, to the untutored eye, some of the letters look exactly the same - and so I spent hours comparing and trying to remember. It's very strange how some letters take root immediately, while others keep on puzzling you. About five weeks after I arrived, one day it seemed to make sense. It wasn't every combination, but enough to get some words sounding in my brain. I realised on that day that the strange ear shaped design on the temples was Tamil for Om. The outer ear is the O sound the little inner ear is the mm. And the dot above the mm is a signal to end the word with the consonant. I don't know the precise meaning of the staff, but it is a sign of power.

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how the letters land
might be an indicator

in Tamil
the letter on all the temples

is the same sound
aum om

in Tamil
it looks like

a giant ear
at the centre of the universe

listening
listening

to the music

Ancient dancers

This dancer is on a wall at Thanjavur, a world heritage listed site in Tamil Nadu. Here the names of dancers and poets and musicians are inscribed on the walls. In these days of fleeting online poetry and tiny print runs that sort of permanence is quite enticing.









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the dancers names are engraved in red stone
ancient as our dreams ancient like this language

of flowers seasons landscapes and mood
the woman dances and her girlfriend
asks who it is she is pining for
the girlfriend dances and the woman’s mother
tells her old stories of passion and heat
monsoon and desire rain and tears

the dancers names are engraved in stone
ancient as our dreams ancient like this language

Anactoria

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when the herds are running the ground thrumming
sunlight scaling every beam of dust like a horde
on the move your finest poems are for me
that’s what I love best

when the sun strikes your coat roan with heat
we all stand dazzled by your beauty
and none of us will ever abandon you
you the brightest of us all

when the summer grass grows pale
and the longing strikes up again
I think of you standing always knowing
which way to go

your doubts are few your face dewy
in the morning light and your eyes
brown soft but your glance as sharp
as thorns

so Sappho let me follow you on this track
into that thicket by the river
let us stand flank by flank our love
our armour

Bittersweet

The cow in this carved rock at Mahabalipuram is so happy and sweet that I felt she needed a poem. Madhukara is a honey maker, a bee. So she brings sweetness to the world. But with a sting. Like the bittersweet taste of love that Sappho writes about.



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has the bee stung your lip?
where love stings there the hurt lies

let the dance take me in its swarm
rise like the sun in spring
the vines embrace me
flowers nod a jig in the breeze

on your body lines of ash
like the pattern of the dance
a dalliance of girls swaying

somewhere beneath the horizon
comes the sounds of a raga
each pada of the song
in the rhythm of the herd
hear the beat of the hooves

the dancers approach
a cloud of bodies
raising gusts of wind
cow dust is on your coat
cow dust in my breath

I am the rasa
I am the lover in the dance
my footsteps in yours
touching like wind breath

the dancer bristles
grass trembles on the river’s edge

Mahabalipuram minotaur

Five years ago I visited Mahabalipuram and wrote about it in my long poem, India Sutra (which is in The Butterfly Effect). It's strange to revisit a place - the things you do and don't remember. I didn't recall having seen this rock, but when I asked, locals said it had always been there. I imagined that it was unearthed by the tsunami. It was just my memory failing me!



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playing ocean and boat
the moon is full
behind a blanket of cloud

sea pounds the beach
waiting for the fishermen
to push off into the surf

the dogs as before
lounge on the sand
curled like coils of net

the same hotel spruced up
beach restaurants
with coloured lights

even the sari-selling woman
is here still plying her trade
five years older some new designs

not much has changed
but on the beach
an unremembered rock

a cow’s head carved
and human hands
minotaur unearthed

labyrinth caved in
no sacred string needed
to lead you out


A few days after posting this I saw a similar image in a book I've been reading called, Devi: The Mother Goddess by Devdutt Pettanaik which is captioned 'Durga attacking the buffalo demon'. This image I've called Minotaur is probably also the buffalo demon. That's not so far from the Cretan story since Theseus could not have killed the Minotaur without Ariadne's thread. Here in India thread is also sacred. It all connects!