This piece is part of the Mehfil folio, which features original art by Jasjyot Singh Hans.

Serenade

in Raga Purvi 

Moon, I come back,
the fields left fallow.
No next rain will beckon;

my sandals unused, 
collect dew. On Egyptian 
cotton let me pull slack 

your drawstrings.
Tonight, all love-gods
are dark. Look, the ruby 

that calls to you in day 
is now lack. I string 
my yazh-lyre high and 

am now a chakor bird 
in full moon-cry until 
my eyes, unhewn stone, 

gleam. Take my pearl 
for now, a moon for my Moon. 
Tonight, leave 

your window 
open. 

बहार / Spring

Spring’s shroud is unrelenting, no whole 
day blue—just gray and haze and 

gray again. Rain contorts pothole 
into fen. An eagle floats its white-

brown-white above the marsh 
that threatens to overtake the road.

Some abandonments are inevitable:

Eurydice’s ascent from the dark 
world is a garden bed’s slow rise;

daybreak when my eyes have adjusted to the cave.

The purple crocus petals flecked in gold,
sun-torn, today lie limp on the bed.

I’ve been on my back for three days, thirsty 
for anyone to roll away my stone, 

to command the light
half of the year back into my body.