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Vinda Karandikar


Breast-shaped is the sky. Breast-shaped, the hill.
Breast-shaped, the vision of loosening clouds.
Breast-shaped, the fruit. Breast-shaped, the eyeballs.
Breast-shaped, the buds about to open.

Breast-shaped is the dome of St. Paul's.
Breast-shaped, the echo reverberating.
Breast-shaped, the secrets. Breast-shaped, the caves.
Breast-shaped, the anchorite darkness within.

Breast-shaped are all our hearts.
Breast-shaped, its anxieties. Breast-shaped, the funeral pyre. 
Breast-shaped, its flame. Breast-shaped is the world.
Shaped like breast-milk is Brahma.

Translated by the poet

On Making Love

Green pastures, green and free,
        With herds of cows, gray and white;
Make love in a place like this alone,
        Forgetting all that haste and fright,

Make love that arises out of blood;
        Make love that's pure, like animal drives;
Reach the major beat of blood
        With all the force of a hundred lives.

Make love that's dumb, without a name;
        Be grass before you love and kiss;
Make love like this; but ... there's a 'but',
        Make love before you know all this.

Translated by the poet ( with A. K. Ramanujan )


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