On certain evenings the wind blows from behind
the hair carefully coiffeured, like leaves on grass set on race,
tosses in haste and tumbles like furls of gown on trail.
Wind bares a hole, scalp where the hair can’t cover,
mehendi sediments on the bed, its traces still on my face:
rain cloud of youth are distant cascades fallen behind.
A knot pinned with carved bones are untied by a lover
who with fingers like magic works next in opening the lace
fragile like wings of insect collected on mountain trail.
In the steep hills of desire when the cold fingers of winter
are drowned by torrents of passion that his touch trace
it is difficult to hide the sun that leaves a crimson blush behind;
but it’s a game of chance, misses and slips more as one gets older,
kisses get rarer, evenings shorter with fading memories of embrace.
The evening bird sings hoarse into the endlessly meandering trail
winding through my life that is now an evening turning amber.
Is it already time to curl in the well of silence, pray for grace ?
Or, that the rain has stopped, the stone wet and polished left behind,
I pick as a talisman, its coolness on my skin, in my next trail ?
I so much want to explore various poetic forms this poeming month.This is written to the prompt from Joanne Merriam who asks us to write a Villanelle. I hadn’t known of this form till I read Luisa A Igloria’s ‘Villanelle Of The Red Maple written for the Morning Porch . I have read Luisa’s Villanelle many many times. Has her tone influenced me here, I frankly do not know.
My poem is also written in response to Dave Bonta’s Morning porch entry. I won’t dare to leave this poem in his site, in the company of the likes of Luisa and Dale. But the link will find its way there, which I can’t help.
Villanell is a difficult form in my opinion, I had to labour hard with this.