I feel both complete and incomplete after watching two nights of Kudiyattam. Full and empty of everything. So I wrote an incomplete poem. Some of you will get the Keats reference:
On First Looking into Kudiyattam
There’s a poem somewhere
or there’s nothing else. In eyes
that touch like hands that glide
like eyes. A poem lives and dies
somewhere in the not distance || 1 ||
There’s a poem somewhere
or there’s nothing else. Gesture
liquid as the weave of time
carves air into syllables. A poem
is made alive in the not distance. || 2||