now at last inimitable
white-foamy Udaipur.
The hiding sun covered
the lake with a blue-red-
white silk sari.
The reflections of the palaces in the lake
added a white ornament.
This rectangular sari
resembles a flag – the symbol
of peace-love-purity.
United, these colors waver
prophetically on the pinnacle of our love.
Love in the Kashmiri mountains
On the bus,
nobody disturbs us.
Our love transcends the mass
of the giant wooded mountains,
stays higher than the sky —
now
vanishing from sight,
now
materializing again —
outside the range of action
of spiteful tongues and eyes.
The sunlight
prolongs the life
of its battery
by drawing out of our love,
out of the brilliance of waterfalls
dashing diamonds on the green.
The amenities of the world
spring from the place in Kashmir,
and we
connect our love
to the source.
Cedars —
the arms of my darling —
take fold of me,
the eyes-waterfalls
flow a distinct vision:
we, naked,
ride white horses
in the middle
of the blooming Kashmiri valley —
the happiness of earthly lovers.
The vision would come to life
the next day
though
we would be dressed.
We live the lives
of each other,
we think of only
each other,
each other is the one word
meaning we, our love.
Sunlight, draw more glow
from our endless source.
We – a pair of lovers —
don’t want to know anything
about the war over Kashmir.
We might as well fly —
what we do,
racing between the mountains.
We lost the count of time
At this part of the planet,
the night sent her stars out,
turned Kashmir
out of a painting
into a pencil drawing.
Two giantess mountains
wrinkled their faces
in displeasure:
in a hefty cloud-hammock
they swung the Moon —
a fidgety little old woman
who always poked her nose
into the affairs
of the rocky kingdom below.
A breeze
with jasmine fragrance
drove illusive shadows
together,
and the silence
who fell into the night’s arms
began to jingle.
Envious of the silence,
my lover
asked me to hug her stronger.
The tranquil
not bustling night
filled mountains with coolness —
you could drink it like nectar.
In the gaze of the loving eyes
and everywhere,
reigned the infinity —
a serious personage —
who suggested
unraveling a problem
of the meaning of life.
Next time.
For the moment,
we were tired of deciphering
a formula
offered by the fairy
of happiness-to-be-together.
It took a countless quantity
of kisses
to do that.
Variability. All the time.
After deciphering,
we were startled
at the appearance
of the flower girls
carrying baskets on their heads.
Chattering, not serious,
despite
the infinity and tiredness,
the girls
gave us garlands
and,
as a parting compliment,
blew a calm melody
out of sacred shells
that didn’t disturb
the repose around.
A silvery river continued
her untroubled sleep,
a sleeping forest got quiet
after having had smoked
a dream-herb
to his heart’s content.
At last, the birds had
a good night’s rest,
and only a dream interpreter
eagle owl
somewhat mumbled,
but that
didn’t bother anybody.
The gratifying feeling
of sweet drowsiness and sleeplessness,
light-and-shade,
fragrance of jasmine
tied with a string,
beauty and gracefulness
of the flower girls,
unusual tunes
made us tipsier.
It seemed as if the fairies
of happiness-to-be-together,
engaged