Derrick J. Night, who writes everyday about his incredibly plenteous garden, weaves subtle symbols and imagery in the titles and subjects of his photo-filled posts. Yesterday, I was struck by the title of his post, ‘Only the Crows‘, the moment I saw it. It had such a poetic ring about it, I couldn’t restrain myself from writing a ghazal, hackneyed as it may read. Not that Derrick did not live on the promise of those words in his brooding, photographic discourse. Mine is just an afterthought and a shadow of what haunts many among us.
The wind moans at my window like a ghost, only the woes;
There are tears in the blue vase. No, not only the rose.
The striptease of desires cheats the night like a hooker,
With whom silken tresses weave a dream? Only the foes.
Damned be the evening when you first felled the taboo,
I am yet to burn the purdah baring none, only the toes.
Crying hoarse by the riverside a god fell off his pedestal,
Who are you, but a man, who spins nothing, only the shows.
Rotting on the highway, you’ve been slain by the guardians;
Uma, none will stop to touch your flesh, only the crows.