The Indian sun is in my blood
It rushes, boiling, through my veins
And it lights a fire
It spins up sunstorms, fire breathing
And, like a dragon, rages through me
Slithers, scuttles, swoops, and flies
And as it simmers underneath –
My skin is cold and tantalised
Oh, cold fire –
You almost soothe me
Oh, waking sleep –
Of broken dreams
You truly are Verona to me
Boiling, beckoning, banishing me
You cannot eat me, Indian sun
I’m captive to a brighter Star
And you can roar and you can fight
But you can never win this war
Yet, all the same, the Indian sun
Combs my hair and beats my head
And leaves me bruised and aching still
In flights of unrequited rest
From Blue Chunni
And when you were done devouring me,
You asked if I had a toothpick handy
So that you could clean your teeth.
You will not be
My Love will save you
My Love will make you whole
Breathe Me in and I promise that death will not choke you
I’ll untie the ropes of the lies you’ve been told
I am your faithfulness
I’m your commitment
The strength of My Arms is a tower:
Run into it.
You’re My heart’s desire
These eyes look past your failures
And see what you are truly:
What you were made for
And what my love makes thee.
I want you heart and soul,
Look in My eyes….
I’ll never give up on you.
Be My bride.
“I will betroth you to Me forever;
Yes, I will betroth you to Me in righteousness and in justice,
In lovingkindness and in compassion,
And I will betroth you to Me in faithfulness.
Then you will know the Lord.”
– Hosea 2:19-20
“The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the LORD, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn;
To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified.” Isaiah 61: 1-3
India is a glass bangle.
I slip it onto my wrists, and it glitters.
Like any glass bangle, you will break
When I leave you
And my heart will break too,
But such is the cost
From Blue Chunni
I’m convinced she is secretly an Indian princess. I mean, look at the way she wraps her sari so fluidly, swiftly, delicately – as if she were a ballerina twirling en point. And the way she walks so gracefully, so regally…. Even the way she cries is elegant. She says she must sleep in the room by the door because she does not prefer the air conditioner, but I wonder if it’s only because she wants to be nearer the gate. So that when her rescuers come she will be restored all the sooner to her palace and her glory.
From Blue Chunni
Everyone is standing, sitting, waiting.
It struck me, as we drove that long day from Hyderabad to the town far south by the sea, that I had never seen a place in my life where people stood and sat and waited as they did here.
No matter how far we travelled down that long road, it was the same: Standing, sitting, waiting. Not everyone – but a majority. And I couldn’t help wondering, “Why aren’t you doing something? Don’t you have something to do? What are you waiting for?”
After I arrived, I stayed for a long month in the town far south by the sea. On a Sunday morning, I received a text message on my Indian mobile:
You are coming to Hyderabad today.
The driver is on his way.
On the long road to Hyderabad, they were – most all of them – both the brothers and the sisters, standing and sitting… But with the vision I had acquired, in the town far south by the sea, I saw that they were not waiting, but being:
They were resting; they were breathing; they were eating the sun.
From the poetic travel blog about my trip to India: Blue Chunni
An Eskimo slips on her furry hood
Tilts her head to her shoulder
And winks like an emoticon.
I’ve been running away from feeling
It’s even chasing me down
And how cliche
To cry in an India thunderstorm
You know you’re giving up something better
For something best
But that’s hard when you don’t know what that is yet.