Objects of Desire
Of course, a woman's body is an object of desire,
but it is not the body itself which is desirable;
rather, the idea of desire anticipated in the body
enthrals. When just the body of a woman is given,
it's very availability sometimes leaves him cold.
He sees, touches, tastes, smells, hears that body,
enters and re-enters it at will; fondles, manipulates, even
hurts it, attempting to extract some pleasure or comfort
yet it yields nothing--no joy, no solace, no peace,
no satisfaction. He wonders where he went wrong,
what he did or didn't do. The body in his arms is
incomprehensible, itself puzzled over its inability
to attract or arouse. It is only when the body dissolves,
ceases to be mere flesh, but is transformed into a figure
of Eros, that the sleeping senses are aroused, like flares
in a dark night; then, the boundaries between two beings
are banished, making both an interplay of passion and prayer.
from an object of desire
i’ve turned—into a desiring subject.
but if you think i’ve directed my mad
medusa stare to chill your male gaze
you’re mistaken. look into my eyes
carefully. they’re not focussed on you,
nor do they invite you into the frame,
offering rare pleasures, unknown adventures;
i neither wish to tempt nor turn you to stone.
beyond you lies another horizon far
more profound and clear, where even the
seagulls do not go, where sky meets the sea
and the grey earth mates the white mist;
there i’ll venture before you and flow
in such secret splendour that my desire
will shimmer over the waters or speckle
the sky with little stars, gently shining
in the distant gloom.
|Copyright © 2005 - Makarand Paranjape|