Charlatan

O ! My heart sings the melodies of the crested waves. Songs of the seaward gale blowing from the north. The cold chill of the night may have come to pass: In the magic of the fire dance, at the breaking of dawn. Let the fragrance of humour play in those eyes. Imported midget of a soul, brown eyed, Cuddled in cologne-sodden hands; Worked out devil, doped in cognac. Tormented, charm of the maids, Jet lagged, shielded large on that face. Mindful of Indian tomcats. Hapless caper, within the powder room. Must he swoon with defiant crafts. Remain edgy by the offered sights. Grow weary of the solitude gale. Jump the sponsor, to an amiable land. There is the sun fragmented on the horizon Bolstered by the colour of the darkened skies With backdrop’s of audacious deep blues Dusk bringing about beginning of another night. Must I deny existence as she changes form, Dewy morning mist or the spent evening heat The touch of mountain winds: cool, Nauseating as the cloudy raindrops. I have seen these moments clasped in time As blooms of maida prints in kolam Geometry. Often it was like the freedom from burning fires At others, time sowed a freshness into existence.