The Enchanted Room

Madras Insomnia

Struck head-on by the wind's blow,
two trees hum like tuning forks.
The sky's colander drains off
water from the stars while a parrot
sharpens its voice. A lone peacock
sputters in the dark.

I can't sleep under the fan's blades.
Saffron geckos cling upsidedown,
chirping and chirping for gnats.
Mosquitos unzip themselves from the wall.
Even the bee-eaters' slender tongues
untie their knots.

Outside, a banyan tree sinks its hooks
into an acre of dust. In the blue hills
langurs leaf through green crops,
and water buffalo sink into mud.

"There are three poems here ('Sunrise at Kovalam Beach,' 'Tat Tvam Asi' and 'Firewalking') that form the jewel in the lotus. They demonstrate most clearly a process that occurs throughout this book, a mysterious movement I much admire, by which the poet 'disappears' into the poem, leaving the reader with the pure moment, no shadow of a narrator. So Maurya Simon is like the sibyl, she is present and not present, domestic and exotic, contemporary reporter and timeless lyric trance-walker. But most important of all, she is a prophet of the heart – these poems tell us where love is taking us." – Carol Muske-Dukes

Spirals of light cling to night's ribs.
White ants spill out of bark.

I wish for the sleep of clear rivers,
for the midnight dreams of saints.
I wait to enter another realm where
one flame dances eternally on one toe:
where the bride of heaven sings a single note,
and the king cobra's hood cups the world.