And here’s the last poem from Hoshang Merchant’s poetry book Love’s Permission.
– Hoshang Merchant
Actually, it is Tuesday
But I’ve taken off from work
He, from school
We listen to Ifti Nasim’s ghazals
Read gay poetry from Boston
Discuss Ashok Row’s magazine piece
We have installed ourselves
in a world made by ourselves
with a little help from our friends.
I think of Hockney’s paintings
of his sleeping lovers
They sleep, he paints
My lover sleeps, I write
I shop for bread and cheese
My lover dreams
I cannot enter his dreams
Living together for him began
with a dream of friendship
In his dream a boy became a man
There is no man or woman only love
The poem is complete
The challenge of this once empty page met.
Here’s the second poem of August from Mustansir Dalvi’s poetry book Brouhahas of Cocks. I find this one very relatable!
– Mustansir Dalvi
The air is thick, and has revived
my books, anticipating the first spell
of a Bombay monsoon.
Ambient moisture has slaked pages
that shuffle and twist, arise
to a wakefulness, unleaving.
Feeling the discomfort of nearness, they push
like Harbour Line commuters in rush hour,
to complain I have neglected them too long.
At night, I am shaken by a poltergeist
Thud! snapping me out of a dream state.
I pull on my glasses, feel my way to the bookshelves.
The hardbacks wait for me, annoyed.
They fall on their sides, open wide
and like Gabriel, call upon me: ‘Read!’
they cry, ‘Read!’
The second last to fill the random poetry week that’s lost, is from Vikram Seth’s poetry book Mappings. This copy, too, came from Writers Workshop.
– Vikram Seth
I willed my love to dream of me last night
That we might lie
At peace, if not beneath, a single sheet,
Under one sky.
I dreamed of her but she could not alas
Humour my will;
It struck me suddenly that where she was
Was daylight still.
Alas, too, that modern-day relationships are exactly like this!