A poem by Madhuri
The moon was very high
She poured down silence and
I wanted to reach up casually
And put her in my mouth –
Far below, houses in rows
Knelt, joined, in the hills;
Street lamps hazy and mellow as India
Glowed like sleepy lights from a plane.
The only sense in all this
Was made or not made
By the people lying shut-eyed inside walls –
Up there the moon scolded and sassed
Like a lanky maiden
Getting her hair shorn.
She knows how to fit right inside your eye
And run amok there,
Clattering up and down the stairs.
The moon stood sentinel
For our gone time;
Pawing in our graves.
We wake at the clang
And must dizzily accommodate her –
She is insistent to get into our beds
– All of us; she is a white sheet,
A blanket of light
Stealing our tones and our cries;
Muffling as snowfall.