Algarve Cliffs
- Kavita A. Jindal (India)
High
where the earth has been roasting
red
dust covers my shoes, fills the crevices
between
the curved top of my plimsolls
and my
ankles in their white socks.
It’s a
guided walk and what I absorb
are the
warnings given at each step,
the
leader’s constant exhortations:
Don’t
broil too long in the sun
lest
you pucker up dehydrated
hat, water
don’t
walk too close to the edge
lest
you meet your fate
in the
rocks that are lodged in wait
under
the sparkling water
This
precipice is prone to crumbling;
admire
the jaggedness, stay on the path
walk
single file, especially right at the top
hat, water
don’t
slide don’t slip, don’t venture
to the
brink, lest you collapse
with
the escarpment into the brine.
In the
past just a glimpse of the sea could please my heart.
What if
the guide sees my secret in my eyes?
He’ll
admonish:
Don’t
dance under the noon sun.
It
scorches.
You
could shatter the earth
which
in this spot is fragile.
Your
dancing could scare the sea.