Prose Header


by Prakash Kona


Part 1 appears
in this issue.

Is the eye naked that conceals tears
Like a dagger in bosom?
Is the soul hiding that appears in your smile?
Is it my world where you reign as queen?
Why do I think I am my own?

The pungent smell of mint leaves
Dancers at a rehearsal deep in love
With synchronicity
Your mind sensitive as bangles
I broke my heart reading a poem.

Between the lines is the book of dreams
Between sea and land is a white rose
Between you and me is a shadow
In the shape of a tiger
Love has consumed us body and soul.

I rearrange letters of my life
That I may arrive at a single word
That describes passion
Of my daily dying body
In throes of creating a new image.

In the sacred vacuum of your belly
Receive me as a pool of water
Receives sunshine when roses flirt
The wind with the abandon
Of the worker who finished Taj Mahal.

Fertile are banks of rivers
Upon which men and women came together
To create amidst differences
You were high priestess of the temple
Of the lunar goddess and I a devotee.

Devoured by moments filled with you
I forget all but the memory of that state
When I was drunk with poison of love
Knocking me out like a boxer’s punch
I sagged to the ground with a prayer on lips.

Sweat on forehead glistens like dew
That has just seen the face of sunlight
Poor little drop of dew
It must fade faster than love
Knowing roses disappear before thorns.

Through the spectacles of sensuality
I saw the illusion of illusions
In solemn silence of a song unsung
The wounds love made on the body
Stare me into mild submission.

One thousand and one emotions
For one night of love
One moment of becoming one flame
One plunging from the peak of a mountain
One going down the abyss of no one.

How can I feel the ashes of gray peace
Unless I have wallowed in circles
Of never-ending fires each morning anew
I wish for death even as I see
The evening star in the horizon.

Two bodies made love to two bodies
Two bodies watched them make love
Two others carefully memorized every gesture
Only one suffered in the end
One surging in the sea of nostalgia.

The lover from the Red Sea in a white sari
Speaks in silence thinks in symbols
God knows her thoughts best
If God didn’t speak the language of men
In the night of her arms I turn into a fish.

I like pickles of lemon or mango
Because they remind me of the woman
Whose skin I licked softly as a cat
She was salty and was sour
She was ecstatic and pickly to touch.

Unconsciously it was there what was
Always unconscious, the consciousness of the thing
Forgotten but floating in free space
Giving cigarette smoke the aura of a dream
Your face is solemn when quiet.

My body refuses to fade the memory
Sunk in the annals of mind
My body craves for innocent love
In hands that fondle a baby
I am aroused by phantasies of insatiable love.

Nipples of moonlight warm the mouth
Of skies the sun behind moon
In protracted agony of love that disturbs
The tongue on a voyage to uncover mysteries
Of skin and smell of summer on grass.

I carry your body inside my body
As if it was my own body
Not my own that is a contradiction
Your body is yours but not so much yours
As much as the one who remembers its contours.

The thought of you tears me into pieces
Each piece the price of a cloth dipped in blood
Rinse my soul vain and corrupt
Dancing on hot coals the dance of death
You are salvation of my thirsting body.

Compassion that blinds is gift I receive
From my enemy bringer of sweet pain
I must be a fool for all I don’t know
I see things different in your sleeping face
That resembles a wax statue.

One morning I became you while this thing
Tormented me that I was more myself than before
We hung onto nowhere like a piece of time
Clinging to bars of eternity
It made love to it.

Do we speak in order to understand
The language that my flesh utters
Upon hearing the voice of your trembling flesh
When that language breaks down
What is the point of words?

I made no claims to be a lover
I believed I was a revolutionary
I made ballads about bodies that sweat words
I refused to attach my signature
I kissed like I drank water.

Obsessed with light from open windows
I walked streets with nothing better in mind
The city breathes hot air and dust
In spaces of night
The light spells your name with shadows.

Flying birds circling upon a hospital bed
Childhood meets youth halfway toward age
They talk of times to come and not to come
Time turned dizzy with excitement
Liquid moonlight left traces on parchment.

Goodbye shadows past my running hand
Goodbye tears falling on hot sand
Goodbye roses waking in me memories
Of one March morning and white rains
My soul singing through sealed lips.

Infinitely yours without a dint of irony
My poem is a river with its borders
Not the expanse of ocean
The home of my spirit
My language is theirs who till the land.

Darkness in the soil of earth
Welcomes light as its lover
In darkness is the germ of life
I take darkness as the core of being
I give it to you as gift of love.

Moved by faces behind veils
I turned into a veil that I might receive the look
That enters the world as a ray of prismatic light
I might be the door that your soul
Opens to let in fresh air.

I made this world mine while I refuse to own it
You will never be mine except as a form
Housed on paper but filling the air
With nuances that escape my daring pen
Lost in an attempt to capture them.

We need one another just as you need
To talk about your menstrual cramps
How you are not yourself when you are most you
I sing with mind but dance with soul
I am an artist in the dark night.

I impress words on paper
The paper responds with passion
Filling my head with meanings
The paper is the work of an anonymous artist
I like to imagine that I have a name.

The ink of my pen loves the feel of paper
Gravity brings them together
Or words would be thrown in all directions
The same does not apply to meanings
What do I mean when I say I love you?

What is not said is implied
What is not implied is revealed
In the pause that comes at the turn
Of a sentence when something stays back
Something else says what wasn’t meant to be heard.

I like you and those who like you I like
I like those whom you like too
Because I like you
Or perhaps I know I am
Irreplaceable in your heart.

My life I associate with letters that spell time
With eyes of the reader of this line
My senses revolt against my will
Day in and day out like trapped monsters
Will I ever know the joy of being in the present?

Sex, death or experience of the world
That turns into language of the heart
The state of the unborn before light dreamed
Of the dark and me by your side
What is it that is not you?

“I” perhaps “I” perhaps not you
For sure you and nothing but you
I a dry leaf you a tear on leaf
I could be the road that leads to your house
You the one by the stove preparing tea.

What do I want from you on a gloomy Friday
Wind riding through bright-lighted ways
Talking to you is talking to a circle
The beginning is not the end
The end was never meant to have a beginning.

Without you I am light doomed never to know dark
I dream of being nothing at all but a dream
A dream walking through corridors of reflections
The world touches me deeply
Together we could change an idea into a world.

Sad is morning my bags unpacked I arrive
Before departing for another place
In my village trees seem green forever
Mountains glow around 6.30 p.m.
Death is my adolescent love of things.

Nostalgia is a way of dying for one
Who cannot see life as responsibility
Afraid to show love except in abstract
Afraid to be loved that I might fall in love
Dead before death has killed one.

See me as you that I might see myself as not you
I love earth that loves hands that
Produce in her body desire not to possess
But caress and rejoice in the harvest song
See me as earth sees those hands.

If I am nature that is the source of myself
I make and remake myself in the image of nature
That was before me and is after me
I need you to know my nature
The moon does not need to know it is moon.

Death waits for me in sleep that wakes
Each time I come to the mirror
How can I tell you the story of my past?
How will those spaces make sense to you?
You understand me as memory.

The language of flowers my body speaks
I wish to hear silent mountains
In this city is there one face that loves me
One face I can call my own
One face that will free me of myself.

Sin and a sense of sin
Sex and a sense of body
Love and a sense of neither sin nor sex
The sense of sin in the background
When fires kindle this sensuous body.

The unborn is the state of not knowing you
Born I knew you forgetting myself
Knowing you I knew to give up knowledge
My senses produce these light vapors
Long nights make me want to touch life.

The question of your body and another person
My thoughts ramble toward you
A hater of bourgeois life I chose loneliness
A lover of people I long for company
What can I give you but my freedom!

My body taunts my will
Dismisses learning as garbage
Treats my commitment to an alternate world
With disdain and morality as sham
I obey the body as a friend in love.

What my body takes from you
Is the farmer that sleeps with
Earth as lovers do
That embrace I take from you
I give you contradictions of a weak mind.

The morality of flesh Christ rebelled against
His body stood pain as proof of innocence
The Buddha left the world of desire
His body taught him desire was useless
I salute body in the name of body.

The way life holds the bosom of death
I hold you my fingers sliding your skin
I suffer passing of moments
Failure nags me sulk like a child
I submit to waves of mother time.

Copyright © 2006 by Prakash Kona

Home Page