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INDIAN TRIO
LIVES OF A BENGAL
LANCER
In one frame of a movie
At the tip of the city
with a tear from eyes to hands
the hunter being hunted.
Forest warm mist beating a path
the beauty and the beast
crossed lovers for one frame of a movie
at the tip of the delta
tiger moth explosion
dawn patrol flight path
in her eyes kissing you
no time to say I care
no time to reach across the shadows
reach across the clichés
across the double cross
the tip of a fortress
at one frame of a movie
beating breast stained heart
rage against speed
stripping sly sheet sleep
the missed opportunity
the last ride home
dawn light sticking
only one frame of a movie
desperate clinging stinging wound
fire cut clasp gasp
cutting pain trained view point
standing outside the self
slipping beyond sting electric
at the tip
loves longing flys
in one frame of a movie
LOST IN TRANSLATION
Liquid Sari emotion
sailing sterile departure lounge
treasure velvet eyes
in kohl frame
carry the looking pass
boarding another world
we fence glances
I wish upon a smile
to share the hope
of caressing cross fusion
you catch my shaggy eyes
longing to bridge our hollow crossroads
but our destinies have designed
a more delicate disenchantment
You glance away
other men regard this ghora with suspicion
In what language is it written
the spirit should be broken
and in what currency do you pay
for the desire of others
Here is never there
now is not then
and long ago will never come again
while I know you will take your flight
I still wish upon my smile
to conjure another state of being
but we can only share this sacred course
blessed is the departure, the journey and the arrival
the rest will always be
lost in translation.
MADRAS ROAD
for grandad
The dusty march up Madras Road
with Micky Whistler who loved to sing
and Sergeant Singh who couldn't
but was a crack shot
the half remembered songs
'Rum and morphine a soldiers best friend'
'you'll get no promotion this side of the ocean
so cheer up my lads bless 'em all'
with fruit and flowers
the like of which you'd never seen
and would never see again
Mango and quavers and chutney
don't forget the chutney
the food wasn't so bad
the discipline was worse
bolt action hard against the shoulder
stand steady mark your target
and wait for the order to fire
but most of all it was the sunlight
the dawn breaking through tenement mind
and the sun set soft on a cobble stone heart
when you're young you don't believe in history
and when you're old
it’s the memories that keep you going
a waterfall of tears remembered
falling like a monsoon
and if all those tears could be flowers
then memories would be full of lotus blossoms.
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Michael Kay-Louis
was born in London, England, was educated at Leeds and Greenwich
Universities, and comes from a military family
He has lived in Europe,
the Middle East, and North and South America. His Grandfather served in India and it is a
strong part of his genetic memory. Michael's hope is that he will visit India one day to
lay the ghosts to rest. If you want to contact Michael about his poems, please
e-mail him at:
kronicls@bellatlantic.net
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