Sambhu Ramachandran
An Egret in Summer
An egret, snow-plumed & alert,
stands alone
in the sunlight-dappled water
of the temple pond. The slight shifts
in its pose—
how they dimple the inky surface,
couriering ripples out to the edge
where tufted hyacinths,
aflame with their lilac glow, receive
the silent message. I stand
on the broken steps,
lathering a bar of soap into my clavicles.
A stray bubble, iridescent & ghost-thin,
unmanacles itself
from my chest hair & floats off
into the distance. My glance follows
its trajectory as far as
a submerged bough where it disappears
or bursts. A flash of azure brilliance
stuns the eye
as a kingfisher swoops glibly down
from the mango tree to wheel away
with a fry. Leaves
scatter as though of something scared
being volubly disrupted. The egret
keeps its pose. The sun
pats my skin red like someone drunk
on love. After a while, I start
to resemble
the egret, soap suds feathering me
to my big toe. Something in me
longs to mimic
its secret longing
mirrored in the pond—to melt
into the water
like a column of pristine snow.