POEMS BY KESHAV MALIK

ART GALLERIES

The vacant art-galleries were his haunts,
for here at last the tantalizing butterfly of the flitting moment
was pinned neatly upon the velvety walls.
And to the outer atmosphere,
the air-expeller banished all
heat and fret, blood and gall.
Here all was nothing if not prayer,
eyes breathing in freely
of the ozone of revelations to the full.
And the live current that charged
the milky white lights on the ceiling,
making a pure sound of meaning
for a soul starved of bright sparks.
Keshav Malik
IN TRANSITION

Once more tonight
the circling earth is circling
the itself circling sun.
Murmuring but murmuring
do its tides turn from side to side,
till the spat out froth does,
to a complete wash white,
an ocean very very dark and wide.
Observing with deep intent,
the sluggish blood in your own veins
to a pitch ascends – –
going straight to your head.
And then, some more the unbelievable visions,
whole worlds seen in transition.
Keshav Malik

TIME NEITHER IS, NOR PASSES

Time neither is, nor passes.
What is, is the world-making womb
where you are born, to die.
Born asleep, born adream- –
dreaming dreams without recall.
There, thus, is no past – –
no futures nor.
There longstanding alone are
the generations linked by held hands – –
and too lonely those voices that there
each the other greet.
But if Time is, it lives or dies
in your waxing and waning breath.
Then poor justice it
when life comes still-born – –
the seeing eye shut too tight,
inner ear hearing no other
than of the bitter delirious wars.
Beneath the night-long blossoming of stars
nothing but
the sleep-walking fitful tread.
Keshav Malik