I saw from afar the gold of his loins. It disappeared under the mangrove. I lean over a salt pond. The green of the water lilies bogs me down. A naked coolness opens an eye in the middle of my forehead. I wake up in the sacred place of desire, place of envy and repentance. Is it really me who thus breaks my shell, is born in the instant and scatters myself? This awakening as of a latent life stricken with coldness, and in my closed throat such thoughts, such silences dilate? My mouth speaks to me of the one who skirts me, cloud man god or bramble, stray bit of wind between my lips or smile of ripe mango – my tongue clicks – who slips into my curve, into my folds, into my darkness in these lights of unreason, his skin shines blue they say he is blue but I know he is a night of plums, soot of eternity on a moonless sky. My life begins in the dream of a blue man In the embrace of a liana’s laughter In this gaze which incarcerates me which rebellious me and a shadow is already unfolding against my heart.
[Extrait d’un texte inspiré par le Gita Govinda, poème en sanskrit écrit au XIIe siècle par Jayadeva, relatant les rencontres amoureuses et sensuelles de Krishna, le « dieu bleu », et une bergère, Radha].
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