The Cadenzas Will Keep by Ramnath Subramanian

In the end, memory comes to the rescue,
denying laws of gravity
to get an old picture back:

a flutter of leaves, and
a subtle breeze at the shoulder
yields, once more,
lovers
caught in the spray
of the cataract’s play;

and the prodigious arm bends
to gather up the child.

Nothing is ever lost.

Unscratched, the moon moves in the branches,
carrying a maiden’s song
to the far banks of the river —
the melody is soft like childhood,
and yet, touched by the gift of age, precise;

and I am encouraged
to look at life
from an ageless rise.

The cadenzas will keep.
The sweep of time sweetens the ride.

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As Surely As Rain Is Made by Ramnath Subramanian

These words will fall off the page

as surely as rain from a tree,

as surely as the madness of march wind

becomes tempered and unfree.

The glasses we raise, the encomiums we speak,

are fragile as mote and mist,

as fragile as tomorrow becomes

in time’s capricious fist.

These words are a dancing landscape

that undulate, then fade,

as surely as a cataract is lost,

as surely as rain is made.

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Her Hair by Ramnath Subramanian

Stirred by a gentle breeze,
her hair is a cataract;
but sea-tossed by sleep,
when she awakens to meet
herself in the mirror,
her hair, —tousled and Pollocked—
is bristled with delight!

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