Tanka

                                       

                                          R. K. Singh

 

 

 

                                                Awaiting the wave
                                                that'll wash away empty hours
                                                and endless longing
                                                in this dead silence at sea
                                                I pull down chunks of sky
           

 

 

                                                Her letter smells
                                                the lotus she wore each time
                                                meeting in the dark:
                                                I touch her fingers again
                                                with all the hopes and passion

                                                Peeling the orange
                                                with manicured fingers:
                                                she slits the rind from
                                                top to bottom, separates
                                                each section with artistry



                                                The chilly twilight--
                                                tossing leaves and branches
                                                tell of the wind
                                                before sunrise she and I
                                                cross-legged, cling to each other



                                                Hanging pictures
                                                in bedroom and living room
                                                the young couple
                                                please each other's eyes leaving
                                                box of books for downstairs den

 

                                                After days of rain
                                                it seems summer again
                                                sweating all day
                                                now without light at night
                                                many thoughts drift like clouds

 

                                                At the river-front
                                                indrawn with Buddha's image
                                                in Padmasana
                                                eyes half-closed, meditating
                                                his eyes not yet opened

                                                The wind lifts
                                                her curved nudity hidden
                                                in the water curtain:
                                                I touch the strings that whisper
                                                love in each falling drop

           

                                                Afternoon
                                                dancing on the waves--
                                                receding sea
                                                then a lashing roaring wall
                                                of water, returning sea



                                                Twisting tassels
                                                round her finger fears coming
                                                of night in bed
                                                octopus grips the body
                                                and buckles into disgrace