That chilly morning is like
Watching a plateau under a soap bubble.
Just as an ice block is unaffected within
When the without is sun-scanned,
The baby sun could just warm me skin-deep.
One has to warm up the cold veins otherwise.
No matter how long you stand in the sun
Hands and feet always look just dipped out of the chill.
Like the ‘December-flower’, though,
The pink of the pulchritude look laid up in winter,
My inability to stand up to cold
Hangs on to me like hairs.
Strangely enough,
The sun-warmed body
No sooner it comes under the pelerine of a shadow
Cools down instantly
Like a lamp’s burn out.
Like you never fell getting out of beach waters,
Like the mind that can never get over
The hang over of a maiden kiss,
This morning sun bath
On the ice-razor’s edge
Coolly scissors through my heart.
Beginning with face
Its smooth lukewarm touch
Plants kisses steadily all over me.
From the cold-split lips
It delves into the gullet
And melts the icy blood to stream.
As long as I face it,
It balms warmth layer by layer.
But the moment I turn my back,
It peels them all layer after layer.
Having couched up my body
All night like a folded umbrella,
I long to warm it up in the sun
Like a peacock its plumes.
How supple is the heart of the morning sun
That adorns my eastward door like a curtain!
No doubt!
It befriends and relaxes me in its lap.
Mother like, she caresses every inch of my body
Lays me on her legs
And bathes me like a babe.
....................
Translated by N.S.Murthy
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