Frigid Kiss Tears in Virgin's Breath - Kamalendu Nath (management books to read .txt) 📗

Table of Contents

frigid kiss

.........8
The First Two Months (October–November).........8
1. Quietly.........8
2. And in Death Rises Fall Foliage.........9
3. Thrashing Euphoria.........12
4. Halloween Flowing into Thanksgiving.........13
5. Cold Cacophony.........15
6. In Between.........16
7. Of This Chapter – November.........18
8. Petrified those on Road.........20
(Published in Worlds Within – Worlds Beyond; June, 2008 )

tears in

:.........23
The Next Three Months(December–January–February)24
9. As in Winter’s Dance.........24
10. Full-Moon Eclipse.........25
11. Snow-Shopping Rainbow.........27
12. January’s Glory.........28
13. Snow Prints.........29
14. January 8 - Two Thousand 8.........32
15. Crawling City Grime.........34
16. Paralyzed Closeness.........35
17. Shouldered Black Trash Bag.........36
18. Pear Shapes.........40
19. When the Power Goes Out.........42
(Published in The Vermont Literary Review; vol XI, 2009)
20. Warmth.........43
21. Cry Night’s Womb.........44

Virgin’s Breath

:.........48
The Last Two Months (March–April).........49
22. March on March .........49
23. Through Rising March (Fog).........52
24. Drawn on Gloom.........55
(published in The 2010 Poets’ guide to NH, Pg. 356)
25. March, 2009.........56
26. Winter’s Passing.........59
27. Patriot day Nor’easter of 2007.........60
28. Nature of Warmth.........63
29. I of Water.........65
30. Nightie in Shreds.........66



- Before autumn’s end
Rolls in New Hampshire winter’s
Lusty frigid kiss

–

The
First Two Months

1. Quietly

As the glazing gold in filtering, fading sunshine
lingers on nature’s music, riding wind-chimes
on tree-holdings - dry ones chime crisp, the
others shimmer before quiet descends
on the bare skeletons; momentarily.

The last of the troops: oaks, (tamaracks) and
beeches - mostly beeches coyly announce
amidst upcoming quiet, proudly in
sound, in color, in shimmering
fold, in lighting trail-canopy
of this forest floor -

This path, quiet otherwise, awakens now in my
careless crunching steps that is sure to
scare off the creatures in rut, who in
this thinning are as illusive as when the
forest stood full, for they be the creatures of quiet.

In the approaching dusk, charm in this casual walk of
mine, through undergrowth lined path, makes me
marvel at the leaf-carpet that I’m scraping
on, of what’s left of once a green canopy,
transformed brown-tan heaps.

Rejoicing life’s transition, in pride, in joy; looking forward
to going down gloriously, accepting inevitability with
grace, for quiet to descend, to engulf the surround
I’m thrown back by a sudden distant loud recoil,
awakening spoils - engulfing in dripping red.

2. And in Death Rises Fall Foliage

The unexpected reddish glare rising up
The floor, bathing this small room, that’s
For an exchange of controlled water-flow,
That ordinarily would be dark
At this time of the day
past,
but for the dying –
now in glow, for
Beyond the window hangs the parading
Naked selves to the frolicking and the admiration
Of human senses, before being cajoled in doom to
Kiss the ground - thrust by wind, by rain, in their
Wild whims, during a
window
of the yearly event
of life drain.
Born out of gems, parading out of winter death
In Sun-blessed feed, passing its bliss through greedy
Stems for its growth-support, to draw another ring;
And in hopes of a repeat bud-sprout-dream, barring
Shut off from this life span
by an
onslaught of
catastrophe inlay of
Winter’s triumph, that in passing, puts to test, the
Resilience ones suited best, from the rest,
And reward the winners in high cut colors, cloaked
In green, received as gift from that blinding
Disk, shinning to fill all soaking
hearts,
in wistful lust
of hunger pans
Of an entry, to greet in a spectrum filled
Dazzling hues of yellow and brown, but
Mostly red, as a carpet laid and insinuating red
Frills, under lifting skirts - that rogue flirting-wind;
Sway draperies - all red, quenching
thirst of an
yearning urn
conceived in turn and
Consumed by death of a new birth in manners
That rests with destined urges, to bear a fruit
Impregnated with sunlight in different color-hues;
So when alive it darkens this room at this time
But for the death that has bared those
skins
dreamy
higher wavelengths;
For blessed be the colors eyes perceive,
That has not been absolved from those rays;
Such as green, when they are alive, but
Now struck gold, on a journey death, by
Stealing all that hidden beneath, its own;
robbed
of all it’s cunning;
awaiting the cursed rape!

3. Thrashing Euphoria

The joy-shame reprimand that happened
as fresh as midnight interlude, scrolled
down in a three-act script like this.

The mischief that’d just lingered between us
with her wheat mid-drift shimmering above
sudden squeaks of profane eruption
would fill our cackling of this naughty
filled apprehension, fearing rebuke.

Through the open door across, in the
main conference room, I see most backs
hidden in high-backed chairs, as were the
faces seated across, except one,
standing in sharp temperament –
rooted stiff in hesitation’s glare.

It was I alone who confronted her and
she in no uncertain terms declared
that the free-bees we could have but
never ever should we show our faces -
ever again, in this venerated facility.

It was more than banishment shame that
lingered on us of that forbidden transgression;
that feeling of a wrongful-joy which
made the acts more joyful, lest we’re to
get caught, and as we’re caught, a reprimand by
rubbing in that shameful-joy lingered
images that’d not fade away, even
when dark shades dropped on
my careening sleep -

4. Halloween Flowing into Thanksgiving

Before heart could freeze, I busied stabbing
her softness to connect beneath; this path -
the two sides in two pockets grabbing;
water flow through culverts in bragging
her sweat pores, without flooding forest swath.

She had covered herself in her distress,
casting her summer glory on her bed
in crisp brown, flowing leaf gown, who could guess
that she’d rob naked in October-November mess,
the warm heart beat, inviting freeze instead;

as human folly in this part of Earth
bob and sink in between election farce,
roll in veterans (fighting) machine girth,
till she recoils in thought of all new birth,
readies in cut days, lengthy night, laugh harsh

to bring home the message of shelter’s need;
to shrink distance in her skeletal stands;
readying to test the outcome of out of seed -
all that would withstand, be princely indeed;
readying for whiteness to crash on lands.

Alas, the months in her season’s conduit
is the bearer of what’s to come in dread,
is the bearer of what’s lost that was sweet
which for few is win, win; for most - a deceit;
as in the conduit joining two sides of bed

from just below her hiding gravely skin,
shooting through troposphere the piercing winds,
the culvert now sweeping existence clean
in cold truth - mean, lack of warmth, life has been;
welcomes the months - motley patch of cruel fiends!

5. Cold Cacophony

The free thoughts could flow tonight, as beer-banana paint was cancelled in a cold forecast, as cold as those moth’s plight in the pine barren that we were to help herd, caress, cajole, catalog in a quest; as great as in yesterday’s rare plant romp – invisibly smiling at bright Sun’s reflection – so small, so delicate, so serene, so readily blent – bent out of wolf-eye’s discern.
Rarer yet is this precious moment that reigns in the faculty, in threads of rare cognizance that shimmers in seeking, sizing, seizing, the rarer within, the rarest of wonders: Creation - on the verge, on the edge, in a precipice, in a precarious balance, buried in unfathomable, unknowable burst of energy - within a cold, cold - very cold Void

.

6. In Between

In between those somber grey trunks,
ephemeral shimmer spewing out in
ghostly gatherings - refracting
the late Sunshine

,
hoisting a vaporous surge of dense
clouds, rising out of the bottomless floor; Rising

-
all day long in a dense mist-filled
shroud, fleeting sorrow in a
pale silvery-mauve, locking all the tree-clans
behind; I can barely see but for
the Solitudes

standing
in between.

In between
the snow and freeze, now that it has rolled in,
this gamut of an unwelcome warming, settling in confusion
beneath a sudden melt, all up and down,
uncapping a swirl of
Discontent

;
in a vaporous protest of all
that’s rot
in this untimely game, challenging season’s hold
in between this day
of all days - Thanksgiving

.

In between
Love

and sorrow, hiding; forlorn and
unbeknown, taking a stand at the forest gate
but for the vaporous mood swings, mistaking
solitude’s high, leaning on these lonely front guards - the
Trunks

-
between despair and
hope, scattering not the blessings that which
the heart beseeches but the yearnings in ephemeral
swirls of ache and Longings

.

As if in sways of
a Japanese

Zen painting, and
a Shakespearean

tragedy, rolling out
these ephemeral plots in
shattered thoughts of an
Unknowable

, as in mist, as in
life’s in-between, rising, out of an