The Bone Harp Sings Nine Moods
by Shweta Narayan
1. Mohanam
Surya's falling ruby melts into yellow
sapphire into radiant blue
— pearl-streaked and bloody
with coral and cinnamon clouds
Two diamond points — Sukra
against endless sky, and you
arms a garland
skin on skin
2. Arabhi
Hands warm on my hips
skin one layer of silk apart
words warm in my ear —
Come away.
3. Shanmukhapriya
I know —
every chip in these filigree walls, every dip
and crack in the jewel-tiled floor
every slippery hollow walked into the steps, every song
of the monsoon-swollen river
and my mother's moods in my sister's voice —
How then shall I leave?
4. Begada
Forget her
as I have forgotten her.
We will thread Gul-mohar and wild
magnolia into garlands of heady flame
exchange them under Agni's dancing gaze
and Soma's ecstasy
We will feed each other crisp pomegranate seeds
and forget
them
all.
5. Amritavarshini
Elder sister, walk with me
Elder sister
give us leave
He is my breath
my monsoon rain
I beg you —
don't
6. Rithigowla
From my breast, from my arms
a harp, O traveler
My fingerbones — to be your pegs
my hair unbreaking strings
Carve me
Set me, O my love
with nine celestial stones lustrous as pomegranate seeds
and take me
home.
7. Bhairavi
Leave my blood to the cinnamon river
In Ruby's steadfast cadence
I no longer need
a heart
Only let it pulse, Mother
in your storm-foamed rage
to find the sea
to crack and dry with summer
to be eaten —
I no longer care.
8. Hindolam
Do not grieve, Elder sister
Do not cry.
I don't want much.
Just your throat's blood
your eyes grown dim
your thigh bone
for a flute
to sing Mother's sweet springtime moods
in your beloved voice.
9. Hamsadhwani
And under your hands, O my love
and your warm breath, we shall sing
— together.
Shweta Narayan was smelted in India's summer, quenched in the monsoon, wound up on words in Malaysia, and pointed westwards. She surfaced in Saudi Arabia, The Netherlands, and Scotland before settling in California, where she lives on language, veggie tacos, and the internet. Shweta took classes in classical Indian music on the way; her late uncle lovingly referred to these as "the bellyache."
Asked if she believes in ghosts, Shweta says: "I believe in anything I'm writing about; so I'm not afraid of ghosts -- yet. People turned into musical instruments are another matter."
Her poetry has recently appeared or is forthcoming in places (other than Goblin Fruit!) like Mythic Delirium, Jabberwocky, and Not One of Us, and her fiction in Realms of Fantasy and the anthologies Clockwork Phoenix 3 and The Beastly Bride. She was the Octavia E. Butler Memorial Scholarship recipient at the 2007 Clarion workshop. Shweta can be found online at www.shwetanarayan.org.
The music in the audio version of this poem is performed by Sangeetha Ayyar of Sydney, Australia; Shweta would also like to thank Mohan Ayyar for his help with the recording.
Back to Table of Contents