Two poems
on the stove,
half done
and in the throes
of slow simmer
and sometimes…
boiling over
in weary wait
for four herbs and seven spices
of a forgotten faith;
and a pinch of fresh salt
of frozen eyes,
and a feathery pause,
till the moon arrives…
The moon,
says the book,
best be cut right
in a perfect half;
baked to gleaming gold,
and garnished with a star-crossed night.
And then, says Chef,
deep-fry a dream
in the grease called time
add a pinch of desire,
and sauté on full blaze
with a long-soaked prayer.
And then go pluck some rays
from the rapid rising sun
to lace the cup of dew
which the dark saved for the dawn;
And this blend,
says the book,
will soon find its flow
to fulfill the two lone poems,
simmering and half done,
waiting on the stove…
Of course,
ReplyDeleteI know that, balpreet. I again accept the irrationality of the command but being conversant with art of poetry, I feel that a poem has a mad capacity of invoking a desire, a desire which remains unperturbed by the fear of death. This desire feeds on a sustained waiting, precisely a sustained look/focus. I am only pointing towards the power which a poem carries. Afterall, there can be different methods of appreciating a poet. Anyhow, this is again a nice poem. If you can create such a spontaniety, don't you think that I am also not entirely irratinal?
Absolutely not irrational Sunil ji.. I am not debating your point at all :) I value your comments and you are the sole commentator on my blog which makes you very important :) Thanks.
ReplyDeleteSaid one poem to the other,
ReplyDelete“Being cooked for a hearty meal,
On the stove, how do you feel?”
The other sighed, “Oh why bother!
“Why bother with this touchy feely stuff?
Talking with you will only get us late
And we are on the way to someone’s plate,
But I must say this cooking’s been rough!
The recipe is mushy, so is the book
The moon is half, time is greasy,
Desire salty, prayer too cheesy,
And I am in love with my cook!”