Moss

This poem was written after a weekend in Shimla, after I had walked around the Viceregal Lodge.

The moss
crept over the rocks quietly
murmuring to itself
wrapping secrets within that green density

Moss
that verdant lining
which lies with the pavement
licks the tree trunks
with its furry tongue

and it watched
quietly, wistfully, watchfully

The maps and the geographers
The globes and the kings
the chandeliers and the dresses

Till,
Lady Edwina cried out
"a dress, a dress...the colour of green velvet"
and whispered to the tailor hoarsely, 'mossy'

And that evening
the pins shone in her hair
her skin glistened with a strange light
and the green...mossy...dress

clung, clung, clung

and Lady Edwina whirled, whirled, whirled
Into the dark secretive night

But when she climbed into bed
and cried for the maids to
Pull out the pins, the stars. the dress
the dress clung on.
and licked harder.
and whispered to itself:

cling.