The night falls at last
Scrutinizing intoxicated love
which has no remedy,
and is hidden in the day light,
as if a fire-fly dance

Desires inherently preserve
the only undulating pattern

If it is northern lights,
one can pace on the-
face of the frozen ocean

Ebbs are buried in the ice
The pattern is yet trying to rise

Serenity of the freeze,
Ignores the breath of fish,
or even sea serpents’
or virgin  mermaids’

Who deepens the violent stillness of love?

Wouldn’t there be one
who tries to find,
Yesterday’s water,
Under the bridge

Would a man be able to write,
the perpetual complexity of love?


Subadhra Jayasundara | 2012 August