THE NATIVE PLACE OF THE SUN In the countries of my words

THE NATIVE PLACE OF THE SUN

In the countries of my words

Where the sun does not set

There are only days

In which the gods

Wearing crowns of sweat

Take sun baths.

There are no starry forests

Where darkness reigns.

My eyes , when closed are sleeping apples ,

When open, my eyeballs are golden corn

Swinging on sheafs

Even my snores disturb

The sleep of the universe-

From the smoke of my wars rise

the faces of poems,

Frightened by the roar of my voice

poets that hang to the pegs of time

Fly away like crows;

When I walk, my steps are like the thunder-bolts

that gallop in the clouds;

If I lift my hand, it is a burning flame:

If I drop it is the evening

from which a thousand rays hang

My body is the eternal fire

It is the native place of the sun-

In the light that I spread

questions leave to your highways

Tread by mid-noons,

and run searching for the worlds of darkness-

The sun which ascends the horizon

every day

If I wish

I can get him to ascend my finger

As a ring –

• Seshendra Sharma