In the evening,

from the steps of the temple tank,

I watch him scatter the yellow light

as he leaves the water,

his feet painting the hot granite

a little less with each heavy step,

she follows him,

saree held above her ankles,

silver anklets sliding back and forth on wet skin;

a sheet of liquid sunshine

paints over the interruption

erasing their presence,

it is this waiting

for the moment the ripples fade,

till the water is sky again,

the sun in two places at once;

it is the travel into the stillness

between suns

that is the destination,

the purification of dissonance;

even the bell

striking so strongly,

her hands soft, damp on cold metal,

three times, four, five,

unsettling the air,

even the bell,

between sound and echo,

sliding against her palm in silence,

its skin against her skin,

even the bell,

unstill,

becomes my mirror.

 

 


Rajani Radhakrishnan

Rajani Radhakrishnan is from Bangalore, India.  Finding time and renewed enthusiasm for poetry after a long career in Financial Applications, she blogs at thotpurge.wordpress.com . Her poems have recently appeared in Quiet Letter, Under the Basho and The Cherita.