Kama, in this torrid summer
let some things remain cool:
her eyes, reflecting the waters,
the smell of jasmine in her hair,
her body dripping with the cold river
as she steps out on the ghats.
If you need tapers at your altar,. Kama,
let her ardour burn.
Let thoughts burn within the cool forehead.
Let the cheeks be cold
but the tongue within all fire.
From the mountain’s shoulder to its groin,
from nether regions
to the lip of the escarpment,
forest fires rage simultaneously.
Bark and bud crackle and rain down as ash.
The trapped antelope does not know where to run
as the four directions, wrapped in smoke,
converge on him.
Such is my fate, beloved,
in the forest of your limbs,
under the black rain of your hair.
The Round of the Seasons
(In the footsteps of Abhinanda and Yogeswara)
Poetry by Keki N.Daruwalla