The Golden Labyrinth

Maya

Crows' shadows stipple the trees.
Sequins of sweat bead the eyebrows
of Muslim, Hindu, Christian, and Jain.
Oh salt of our sleep, deliver us
soon from this funace of dreams.

Promise of dusk's turning slakes me.
Soon the temple's pitted bell will clang,
and the reverent will pitch themselves
into the goddess's arms like swords,
severing the threads that bind.

Summer mocks us one and all.
It bears down its weight of gold,
flattening each shadow's welt
into the finest residue of ash.
The ground is a patchwork of loss.

I seek refuge in evening's harmony

"Maurya Simon's The Golden Labyrinth is a delight and more than a book of 'travel' poems about her extended residency in India. It is a lyric poet's consideration of the problem of human misery, globalized literary identities, and the place of pity and compassion in privileged circumstances. In delicacy of expression and preciseness of vision, Simon's work can easily be seen as an extension of the powers given to contemporary American poetry through the contributions of Elizabeth Bishop and May Swenson. Simon's poetry stands with theirs, as accessible and lucid as anyone's, yet holds to a level of thought and seriousness beyond any current issues of reputation. Overall, the project is to accomplish what Rainer Maria Rilke said should be the ambition of each poet who writes – that we share 'a tenderness towards existence.'" - Garrett Hongo

sung by veena and nagaswaram.
And when the shruti box drones out
infinity's chord, I concur: time
is a continuum that slurs the notes

and blurs the vision like a drug.
We are the slow smoke that ascends
from a nonexistent fire: neither
dirt nor water can put us out.
The soul is irreducible as doubt.