still the waves roll up under the full moon's frown broken on each crest into jagged lines and the child runs among the foam throwing his fist of sand at the wind. where it falls, a momentary iridiscence, and then the dark mass rolls over. the childs laughs as the sand sprays in the wind stinging his skin into splotches. the toothless moon moves up -- time to go already? can't we stay some more? and still the waves roll up each crest a surprise without end each swell a new signature of life. like a child my mind runs from one crest to another picking seashells, grains of sand running after a glimmer and throwing it all away in discovery and in joy -- surprises, laughter, mirth. the sea writes in every foam the mystery of its deep the child has no eye to read it despairingly she wipes clean the sand, only to write again but the old moon says -- this game must end; protestation, tears. life is measured by that gibbous spoon, unsmiling, droll. and still the waves roll in playful -- bearing the endless largesse of an infinite unknown revealing itself. a surprise in every grain of sand -- my treasure, my own: every fistful i throw out comes back. another day, another child holding the same treasure in her fist laughs my joy, running amid the foam this my laughter of today. the child laughs at surprise. the old moon in his measured march -- merely frowns. and still the waves roll countless waves on countless shores each bearing a gift of foamed surprise. what we know fills many pages, but what we know not reveals its pages in endless waves. the line of the ancient moon flickers, dies, and is reborn in infinite parallels. the child in me breaks up lines by throwing sand dust, revealing new surprises, at the shores of the infinite. O do not pull me away from this play, let me not forget, no, not for a moment the infinite surprises that lie hidden in each everyday moment. let my laughter rise in play up to the mirthless moon -- and still the waves roll up, relentless in their surprise.
under the glare of a merciless sun the sea reveals new mysteries. every shadow stark against the dazzle hiding nothing, yet hiding all. cracks with shell-creatures and crabs schools of fish in the floating moss cloudless sky, triangle of sails afar. humanity gathers, solitary and in clusters water and lotion glistening on skin colours. sand and skin fuse in memory rainbow parasols, towels, chairs -- marking territories. shadow lines in the sand. old clusters move out, and the shadow's shift new lines drawn. each colony keeping safe distance from the old newcomers circumspect, old owners proud. children run and shout, mothers dig new centers for their domain. slowly, the shadows shift. every actor has his entrance and his exit etched sharply on the sandy sundial. the child bobs on his crocodile float the mother plays paddleball limbs and hair and blue bikini skin sensuality flashes fire under cloudless skies. flesh is the lure, reeling in lives a network through humanity, two at a time. after dusk one counts the catch but for now, the sun floods with light the limbs and hair and bikini skin. and still i sit in the shadow of the wall sea breeze in my hair. in the glare of day i think of dark night, with its dark suggestions and the moon lines on the surf. the day makes for stark truths, but the shadows of night do they reveal more?
it's really a "disco" - someone says
("club" spoken like "kloob") - a club that's "in" --
the place to see and the place to sin
men, women and things in between
sashay under the canopy of music. lines of light
neither day nor night, sparkling bright
revolve across the shifting shadows.
slim, fat, thin. tall, short. heavy, light.
each soul feels a different plight.
the dj speaks, the rhythm sears,
the bodies writhe, hungry and lithe.
eyes dance the circle of light
seeking solace, seeking substance
amid the ups and downs of the dance called life.
the bargirl asks -- what would you like
"vino, o cerveza," or merely "sprite?"
the cleavage sways, blue eyelids soar -
"your first time in denia? have some more!"
the bodies crowd like wriggling eels
in a net of dancing lights
i am not on the floor, i float
looking down from a far corner.
the working girl with glasses,
seeking an arm to rest her tired head
the plump woman, dancing rhythmic
seeks eternity but may get a minute.
the tall newcomer greets a woman --
kiss on the cheeks. her consort raises his glass.
two men at a table, eyes rolling up
the room like a parchment, college girls
in this corner, tinkling gaggle;
thirties' women dancing in the middle
a group formidable;
the intense woman who dances alone
the music is enough for her.
the middle-aged man with his wife
looks at her friend, who looks elsewhere.
desire in the twenty-first century,
floats weightless above life's routine
distilled desire, shorn of appendages --
marriage, child, love, togetherness,
clumped up in technology's centrifuge
liberated desire binds less tightly
making for pain. bodies thrash in rhythm
to syncopated drumbeats of desire
dense desire rises, curling along the ceiling
where whirling lines of chainsaw light
cut it into iridiscent pieces. minced
desire writhes, shakes, seeking release
yet the bind holds it tight
seeking the fulfillment of darkest night
not thinking, not thinking
of pain.
but . . . but what is this now --
who is this man there, with his beer
when did he get down from this floating corner
who is this watching him then? i turn away
and then look back -- he's still there
excited, intense, catching eyes,
standing out, hoping bodies will notice
dreaming of flesh, he has twisted away
from this philosopher in the skies
his body joining the writhing mass
in pent-up desire club havana sighs
an eternity of greed throbs in his eyes
the light pulses like a knife
and i shriek in pain
from here where i can feel its edge
o mother, take me in your lap
the mind is a razor, i cut myself
every day. hold me, soothe me
as mindless as a baby. let me fling
some more sand into the foamy brine
and let me not search
for reasons behind iridiscence.
amit mukerjee
denia, alicante, spain, 21 Jul 2003