The following poem appears in our January 2014 Digital Issue. Download the full issue to read the rest of Ami’s poem.
Her sheer veil streams in a pale mist,
the crimson lahenga,
whirls around her running form,
she smells the crushed grass
beneath her naked feet.
I want you to myself, away from the
Gopi’s eyes
Radha, the one Krishna adores,
her face upturned to the rain,
listens for his song, reflected
from the blue-gray clouds.
Call me, call me, from the hollows of your flute
The night, sung into being
By his sweet smile pressed
against the bansuri,
dances with the peacock feather
in his long wavy hair.
—
AMI KAYE serves as publisher and managing editor of Glass Lyre Press. She has been running the journal Pirene’s Fountain for several years. Her work has appeared in various journals including East on Central, First Literary Review-East, Tears in the Fence, Cartier Street Review, Wild Goose Poetry Review, Peony Moon, Scottish Poetry Review, among others. Ami’s work was nominated for the James B. Baker award, and included in poetry anthologies. She is the author of What Hands Can Hold. Visit her website at www.amikaye.com.
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