(A Quarterly International Peer-reviewed Refereed e-Journal
Devoted to English Language and Literature)
Durlabh Singh is a poet and artist currently living in London, England. He was born In Nairobi, Kenya of Indian parentage. He has lived in London for over 40 years. He is an accomplished poet having published in over 300 publications worldwide. He has written and illustrated several books including his critically acclaimed poetry collection Chrome Red, Spaces of Heart, Natural Tones and Invisible Lore, a fascinating collection of short stories Kama Sutra of Love and his latest novel In The Days of Love. He is an estabilished artist and his art has been exhibited and is housed in private and public collections all over the world including India, Kenya, Spain, Italy, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, Finland, Paris, France and New York, New York.
Will the deserts now bloom
In the tear shaped waters shed by dawn
Where long reached shadows will graze
The silted veins of some muted storm.
Let the moths eat the vermin
At the heart of tarnished thorn
Let the forests retain their magic play
With thread woven from the ancient yarn.
Builder for the houses of heart
Just turned out to be a construct of fraud
Collapsed in emotions, hand held motions
Searching for the guidance in a jilted start.
2. Cannot Remember
I cannot remember my name
As there is no remembrance
On my finger tips
No remembrance in my bones
No remembrance in skeleton
And my skull speaks
Of anguished living fears
Compounded by arduous
Callousness of the fate.
I have no name
Perhaps I was a companion
Of the wandering shadows
Living in docile lands
Outside the gates of paradise.
Squeezed in hand
To find tooth of lemon
And drink waters
Drained of the rivers saline
To quench thirsts born of fevers.
To compensate for breaths
Starved of the living
I will pay dividends
By the levies on winds
And when the voices
From alien lands arrive
I will not agree to stand thither
Because I cannot recall my name
On tapes of some measured message.
Tonight I may
Under the star studded heavens
In high reverberations of mind
Find some new grounds
Of some whispered tonalities
To recall past remembered sound.
To recall my name.
3. Bitter Lemon
I want to cut my teeth
On the rind of a bitter lemon
And feel the veins of wintry night
Caught in eddies on the frozen lips.
To follow the paths of the sea
Or to the creatures of sultry nights
Places where agonies kept vigils
In tear stained cheeks after saline.
In the love I embraced
Within my arms some pallid form
But strident heart betrayed its strain
Catching breaths for some ancient storm.
Graces of dead leaves in splits
Half remembered tales of ancient bliss
Some strivings for hankerings of heart
Looking for solace in a venomed start.
To think of you
Is not to think of you
A single point diverges
Into dimensions of horizon
Subterranean reasons within
Causing rippled symptoms.
Of narcissus nihilty
A muted presence
Perhaps will be sufficient
For directing love into some clarity.
A life perhaps you loose
Or control over its luminosity
An entry into cessation
A heart into intellectual sterility.
A few returned to the sea
To pick rock or the rose
Under scorpioned rough shades
Some deadly tumults in remorse.
5. Grow Fingers
And I grow fingers and thumbs to write more
The verses that do not follow straight lines
But zigzagging under the open skies
In chromed yellow sunlight
In canopy of the trees
Of the emerald green.
Deserts there are, heat exhausted creatures
Which demand to know the arrival of dawn
Within the hot sandy dunes loneliness resides
Seized in sounds of silences the wind sighing.
Winters I have seen , in interiors of people
Where motions are frozen in frigid bonds
And down pours from dark clouds echoes
The deaths of the moths on the frozen ponds.
Today I speak from depths of the being
From slits in roofs, from broken charades
From blood soaked minds under the bullets metallic
Or women singing their songs in mud soaked paddies.
Run with syrup on my parched lips
Or disappear in the immensity of the seas
Rain forested creatures wormed of nights
In wakeful of the myths for mutterings in dawn.