Narcissus

 

Eyes closed, I lie on my back

Following their arms mentally

As the masseurs run their fingers

Pressing, squeezing, rubbing in

The warm oil all over me.

 

From the sole of my feet, up

Through the ankles, calves, knees

And thighs, passing deftly

My privates and up to the torso

My hairy, broad chest, shoulders

And the nape of my neck. 

 

The loincloth barely leaves me clothed.

As the masseur's fingers and then the pouch

Filled with medicinal leaves soaked in starchy fluid

Spread warmth all over me,

I wonder if I might get an erection;

I don't. 

 

Turning me over, the warm oil and then

the slimy starch draw gluey patterns on my back.

My buttocks, rather big,

Now smooth, soft, rounded like melons.

The masseur squeezes that lump,

The inflammation still hot on my hips;

I squirm and groan, in pain and pleasure. 

 

Eyes closed, I lie on the wooden plank

Like a slab of meat, fresh from the butcher.

Eyes closed, I imagine myself

Watching me from above. 

 

This hunk of flesh that is me

That has been me, that'll me

For so many years!

We have been together ever since

The day I was born! 

 

I love it; with all its shortcomings.

I adore my penis, how so well I know him!

Every strand of hair, every scar, every wrinkle -

This living, breathing being that is me! 

 

There is nothing hidden, no secrets between us;

We took pleasure, pain we suffered together -

That is me, this me, together till the last breath! 

 

I look at myself with great kindness...

 

***** Bala Chandran V. Trivandrum. 07/07/2020

Mera Jasmine

 

I love it the way the flower buds lean.

Like young children leaning out of the window

Of a passing bus. 

 

I love it the way the flower buds glow in the light

Like virginal pubescent girls, eager to bloom,

Eager to love and be loved.

 

I love it, the sensuously soft petals

So smooth and tender to touch

Like the arm of one I no longer remember. 

 

All that remains, is her fragrance -

Long after the bloom and the withering

All that would remain is the fragrance

Of that flower in my memory. 

 

***** Balachandran, Trivandrum, 30.04.2020

Spider in the Toilet

 

In the claustrophobic cubicle

(the reason none other dare use it)

That is my exclusive toilet,

At the stroke of midnight

We engage in a silent conversation.

I sit on the seat, hardly a foot away from her.

Twisting myself awkwardly, I strain to focus.

in the dim light, her eyes twinkle

As the light of the headlamp lights her up.

I have known her ( or her ancestors) for long.

Very polite, seemingly embarrassed

Having to witness my nocturnal

Passage of the bowels, she pretends

To be busy with cleaning herself up.

Observing her through the camera

I am reminded of the many lonely nights

and days in toilets

I have spent in the company

of ants, spiders

Geckos and frogs

Who sit mute, still, watching me.

She isn't afraid of me; nor am I of her

In that companionable, comfortable

Camaraderie that I feel only with very few -

Dogs, dragonflies and arachnids of different hues.

A cubicle of a toilet is a safe place

For friends, outcasts, to come together.

****** . Balachandran V, Trivandrum 06.02.2019

An Incident at Myristica Creek

'It's impossible', said the ant to the fly
'To cross the stream in turbulence'.
Sitting on the edge of a leaf
The fly replied: ' Not if you can fly'.

'Ah, but you do have wings, pretty damsel,
Whereas I have only legs', mused the ant.
'Focus! Focus on the image of wings',
Said the fly, poised on the tip of a leaf
'And then you will gain wings, and fly'.

Wiser now, the ant focussed; he felt
The stirring in his heart and thought:
'Yes, yes, I can feel them growing, the wings
They sprout and fan rapid, they beat fast'.

The damselfly leapt; it flew, over the stream
And landed softly on the farther bank.
The ant dreamt; it jumped -
The moral is : only those with wings can fly.

****
Calocypha laidlawi aka Myristica Sapphire. Munnar, 2019

Coming of Age

The vine danced in the wind.
Swinging gently, the young one thought
'This is life; I will soon be an adult
I will take in many lovers
I will have offsprings in thousands
This beautiful land and brook mine'.

Above, on the low-hanging branch
Sat a Bee-eater, sharpening his beak
His eyes had a kindness one could not fathom
As he gazed on the young dragonfly.

*****
Epithemis mariae juvenile male, SVNP, 2019

Adieu

Darkness;  night has fallen.

In the distance, thunder rolls.

It is louder now; light flashes in the sky.

Rain pours.

I cannot hear anything but

The scream of the wind

And the screeching of the 

Lashing rains.

The thunder is louder now.

I am afraid. 

Lights have gone

In my master’s home.

I am alone in my cage.

I cannot hear anything

But the thunder; I am afraid.

I have to get out of my cage

And get to my master

To the warmth of his love

And the rug that I love. 

The thunder breaks my heart

I break out of my cage

I run to my master

But the door is closed. 

Where do I go, where do I 

Get away to?  I run, I run - 

I should have seen the well.

In the cold darkness

I think of my master

And I could feel his arms

Hugging me; he is kissing me. 

Looking up, I see the sky clearing up

The rains have stopped.

My master must be happy now

And dreaming of me in his sleep. 

******

Balachandran V, Trivandrum. 26.08.2019

Afterwards

The pain comes much later, first
in trickles, then in torrents
Washing off, cleansing
Wounds, hurts, the memories
The thoughts of should-haves
and should-have-nots.

First to heal are those
festering, anger for
What they did -
and did not.

Then, those of regret
of what you did -
and did not.

Then, like a sunbeam
breaking out through the clouds
The realization that everything
carried the fragrance of love
In spite of all
There was always love; love
lingering in the shadows.

Then comes peace
Within.

**** Bala Chandran, 24.07.2019

To Meera Nair, remembering your father, my friend, Murali Dharan

Painting: The death of Casamegas. Pablo Picasso

Stock taking

Once in a while on an autumn morning,
Take a walk.
Look up at the shady trees,
Smile at the dogs passing by
Gawk at the high rises
Cast a kind glance
At the rag picker staggering by.

Pause for the passing car
Gaze at the pretty lass
Look kindly at the world
Rushing by.

Winter will be here soon.
On an autumn morning
Take a walk
Taking stock of your life.

******
Balan strolling along. @ Indira Nagar, Bangalore. 5. 11. 2018