Snowy crags and tarns,
Puffed clouds blistering sun,
  .  .  .  Penultimate heaven.

my dreams are
the texture of the earth
softened by the monsoon
a clairvoyant fragrance rises
from the green sprouts
pushing their way through-out
and through-in
my rain-coloured mental canvas
a cool drop snakes down
my ready spine
i’m dissolved
in the frissons that ensue
even as your warmth
embraces me
every numbing night
the winds detach the flowers
from every mourning tree
and i give you myself
as you rain on me
incessantly

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   13.06.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

i do not wish that
no silence lies between us;
there must be those silences
interlaced with our deep breaths
as we meet.
but when our silences
cease to speak
when they have
told us all they can
--in the space of a heartbeat
or the entire span of creation
when they have exhausted themselves
then,
i shall want words
i would have them fall
not gently or slowly
but in great energetic torrents
electrified with our passions
for the words that pass
between us
are not the usual cacophony;
they are music
when words
yours and mine
crisscross.

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
  29.05.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

Novice, heed my diction—
The learned, the schooled, the politic,
Are but fools with conviction.

I feel the shrug of the passing winds,
That gather beyond my solemn place,
Where indifferent birds fly to and from,
With only lost dreams, real as her face.