Dreaming of Tagore

It's all about the light
coming from the window,
splits of bamboo,
left ajar at noon
for the air,
the chatters of peacocks,
the rain,
the noises of monsoon.

Am I Urmila
or Sita of Ramayana
in my dream
woven by the goddess
of sleep?

Your words bring me
to your lips
concealed by the hairs
on your face
as white as the light,
stingy of your tongue
that inaudibly speaks
in Bengali.

Is it Valmiki
or Tulsidas behind you
whispering in Sanskrit
that I'm a devadasi
bathed in lilac water?

The curls of our tongues
understand
the words of our lips
speaking of quiet
as my fingers move
the hairs
to see you say
the light is in Gitanjali.

Beautifully, gracefully atmospheric... A gift... Thanks a lot for it. A wonderful poem.

Best from Bar

A lot of research for me to get the full impact of your poem;
but from what I glean so far I find your poem breathtaking.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

Thank you, Bar22do and Tailor.

the light (a poem with that title-Light) in Gitanzali (tagore's poetry book).

The rest are self-explanatory, i think.

Miyako