Here we come across a selection of poems that Mallika has written over time in Singapore and Tasmania.
First Kiss
I drew a breath
from your mouth
as your lips settled
on mine
and stayed
as long as the sax
on the radio did
as long as the rolling waves
that crash
only to pick up
again
and again I drew
a breath
as my lips rested
on yours
a sigh escapes
but not that kiss
oh no, coz
it’s the kiss of us
My hand
My hand reaches out
within crumpled sheets
hoping to find yours there
just there, that spot
beneath the duvet
shielded from the draughts so cold
Tasmanian wintry spells waved off
by that hand under the table
beneath the pitch of stringed sounds
and the mayhem of a bar
holding mine, warm
and so, so still
A surprise touch
that struck me through
like the tumbling toots of a sax
then stayed
like a single unflinching
lament of a trombone
My hand is greedy for yours
Stop it, I tell her
OK she sulks
but no, there she goes again
straying over to your lap
seeking out your hand
My hand in your hand
is all I can think of
now
This cold dread
will pass,
perhaps
These deadened senses
will enliven
perhaps
But for now
all my empty hand seeks
is yours
My Love The Forest
I come to you
With heaviness
To find a sense of
Place, to find a sense of
Me
mango in one hand
moss in the other
Even as I lie
At your mossy feet
Inhale your fecund breath
My pulse is drawn into your
Hollows
mango in one hand
moss in the other
Fruit of your labour
At no cost to me
My fingers curl
Around your oval curves, and
Yank
mango in one hand
moss in the other
Your leaves rustle
Branches shake
Twigs tremble
But your mouth opens to say
Nothing
mango in one hand
moss in the other
I weigh you on my tongue
Yellow on pink
Moist on wet
Sweet yet tart, and it is just
Fine
mango in one hand
moss in the other
Eyes shut, my mind
Twines with sleepy truths
Shoots new growths
Of possibilities and
Being
mango in one hand
moss in the other
As I forage deeper
Your mossy clumped arms
Spread out wide
Lost yet I walk right into
Them
mango in one hand
moss in the other
But I turned away
As chainsaws came
Blading your heart
Bleeding my brains
Out
mango in one hand
moss in the other
Oh my love
What have they done to
You
Oh my love, what’ve I done to
Me
mango in one hand
moss in the other
Performed at Molly Malone’s, Singapore on 21 March 2018 for the occasion of International Day of Forests.
Those Eyes
The lark of his voice flaps, ready for
A takeoff into the winds of change
A rare clarity takes flight, soars towards
The heights of truth, plunges to
Depths of passion
The slicing of conscience, the dicing of dimension
Sweeping through time
And reason
Those eyes.
The thirsty draws sweet water from
The blue pools of giving
A lamb caught in thistled bushes begrudges not
Of deception
Brings redemption to those who seek
The wells of purity within
And love
The lines that run deep, cracks and creases
Imprints of life’s embittered journey
Yet his face lights the very paths
Of those who err and fall
They tell of crevices and depths that can
Only exist off a mountain
That stands craggy but tall
And majestic
The gait of a man who’s known
Many a storm, even smells one from afar
And fears not when caught in torrential
Cries and disillusionment
The call of an army, the march of will
The topography of a sinewy back that maps
plains of strategy, strength
And endurance
Crystal gazing, fortune telling
None shall be had. For wisdom flows
From the tea leaves of his mind
Stains hurt, seeps cure
Lifts spirits, fires hearts
A single discourse folds earth’s corners to
Precise napkins of fact
And fiction
An echo of a clear ray resonates off
the dew of his being, crystallised by
all forces, condensing in his heart.
The beauty, the fragility
As fresh as day, as sure as rock
Charm wets into a teardrop
Hangs from the frond of life
And existence
Those eyes, they hold me.