Autumn Moon Read online

Gathering pictures

  of flashing galaxies

  and stacking them.

  Like the poet,

  who traverses the cold

  human spaces;

  Gathering pictures

  of flashing life

  and writing them.

  Stranger

  I come back.

  A stranger

  to myself.

  My soul is frightened,

  desires scared,

  dreams bruised.

  Longings have

  smothered their flame.

  Who was it

  I went seeking

  that I come back

  a stranger

  to myself?

  Season

  When the snow melts

  and the mist clears

  from the valleys,

  seeds will

  open their eyes.

  Green will flow

  down the slopes.

  Look carefully

  at the spring;

  You will find remnants

  of the season gone by.

  In the sad eyes

  of tender shoots

  the wetness of tears lingers on.

  Counsel

  This poet,

  my twin,

  has poured into my heart

  sands of moonlight.

  He has bitten into my soul.

  Clawed into my breath.

  And poured boiling brine on me.

  He professed:

  Pain gives

  sight.

  Enlightenment.

  Panicked at his pain.

  He tells me now:

  Come,

  let's commit suicide.

  In Custody

  When I entered the city,

  the evening was hazy.

  Time had gone stale.

  Silence draped the walls.

  The streets wore

  not even a shadow.

  There was neither light

  nor darkness.

  Doors were locked,

  and windows shut.

  Stale crumbs of time

  lay scattered in the lanes.

  I roamed the city

  street after street

  and called at each door:

  Is anybody there?

  Is anybody home?

  But no one appeared.

  Nobody answered.

  All of a sudden

  the city has woken up.

  Its many voices

  have taken me captive.

  I am

  a prisoner of voices

  now!

  Promise

  A poem

  has a date with me.

  When pain sleeps easy

  in my sinking pulse

  the pale-faced moon

  touches the horizon.

  When day sinks into the sea,

  the night is washed ashore.

  In the twilight hour,

  when the body retires,

  and the soul breathes free:

  A poem

  has a date with me.

  Companion

  Have you seen the old tree

  at the street corner?

  He's a friend.

  I've known Him for ages.

  When I was young

  I used to climb on His shoulders

  to steal a fruit.

  Once I stepped on His aching limb

  and He had thrown me off.

  In rage, I had thrown stones at Him.

  On my wedding,

  He had given the firewood

  for the havan.

  When my wife was pregnant,

  He tossed green mangoes to her

  whenever she craved for them.

  I felt jealous,

  when my wife whispered to my

  child

  he was born of the tree

  and she had plucked him off it.

  With time

  He has grown old

  and lost all his leaves.

  Whenever I pass by

  He teases me:

  So, you too have lost

  all your hair!

  The city-planners

  are cutting down

  the old tree.

  I have no courage

  to cross the street corner

  and face Him.

  Night

  Without a sigh.

  Without a smile.

  Without a flutter.

  The night flies past.

  The sky slides out,

  the river floats away.

  The moon keeps withering

  in the dust of silence.

  You too, I wish,

  would wake up for once

  and see how it feels

  on such nights

  of separation!

  Compose a Poem

  Let us compose a poem.

  Let the surging pain

  swell the eyes.

  Let the lancet touch

  the aching veins.

  Let us turn

  a lapsed crossing

  and call a namesake.

  Let us compose a poem.

  Suvarna

  Flying across the sky

  I saw the twin towns of night.

  Behind the haze

  the twin islands of slumber,

  Suvarna's twin eyes

  dark and deep

  like those of Bonolata Sen.

  Flying across the sky

  I met her on flights

  stitching the two cities;

  knitting the edges of night.

  Her eyes—

  glide like two night birds.

  Float on the milkyway

  like two night sisters.

  Suvarna's eyes

  dark and deep

  like those of Bonolata Sen.

  Come down sometime,

  Suvarna,

  from the pressurised heights.

  And touch the Earth.

  The Earth too—

  has deep oceans

  though not as dark

  as the eyes

  of Bonolata Sen.

  * 'Bonolata Sen' is the well-known poem by the famous Bengali poe Jeebananda Dash.

  Little girl night

  The little girl night

  has escaped the sky,

  through the thick foliage,

  sidling along

  the walls of the city,

  to go to the fair.

  The little girl night

  holds in her fist

  the shiny gold coin

  of the moon.

  If only I could

  hold her hand

  and take her

  to the morning fair,

  and buy her toys.

  Lullaby

  When the golden flamingoes

  settle down

  on the branch of the horizon;

  When the evening

  leans on your shoulders;

  When lamps open

  their pensive eyes;

  Cover your face

  with veil of hayaa.

  I will cajole you

  to uncover it.

  I will place

  the roses of your lips

  on my eyes

  and repeat my dreams

  of the day

  in the dreamlit night.

  The pure one

  Remove all traces

  of your being.

  Not a movement

  be felt

  when you move.

  When you rise,

  not a leaf

  should stir;

  Not a rustle

  be heard.

  Take care,

  no stain, no wrinkle

  of life

  should go with

  the spotless, holy death.

  Rite of passage

  Breathing is a habit.

  Living, a ritual.

  The soundless body.

  The shadowless eyes.

>   The numb feet

  keep walking.

  Endlessly.

  Years and centuries

  pass by.

  What a strange thing

  this habit of living is.

  Dreams

  Walk gently.

  Step with care.

  Let there be

  no echoes

  of your footfall.

  Fragile dreams

  are scattered

  in silences.

  Walk gently.

  Do not wake up

  the sleeping.

  Dreams die

  when they wake up.

  Amen

  Give everything away—

  Ideas, breath, vision, thoughts.

  Peel off words from the lips,

  and sounds from the tongue.

  Wipe off

  the lines from the palms.

  Give up your ego,

  for you are not yourself.

  Take off

  the body beautiful

  from your soul.

  Finish your prayers,

  say Amen!

  And surrender the soul.

  Branches

  The plant was green

  with healthy branches.

  Well looked after,

  nursed and nourished,

  but never flowering.

  Years later,

  my gardener complained.

  It didn't grow into a tree,

  and pulled it out.

  Its roots had spread

  all across the garden.

  Like a relationship

  whose boughs were green,

  but never flowering.

  Never bearing fruits.

  Parting

  A string snaps

  from a sitar.

  A silken thread

  cuts the finger.

  Something ruptures

  somewhere in my heart,

  when I break myself

  out of your sight.

  Heart-breaking

  is the moment

  of parting from you.

  Drop by drop

  The lump of your grief

  had placed on my tongue

  has started melting.

  I live drop by drop

  as the sorrow flows

  down my throat.

  I'll take my last breath

  with the final drop.

  Urge

  I get an urge, sometimes

  to fling a stone at the sun,

  break it into pieces

  and splash it over the sky.

  I get an urge, sometimes

  to clamp a hook,

  tear open the sky

  and see what lies behind.

  May be, there is

  another sky

  lurking behind this one.

  The lake at night

  The lake at night;

  Sad, pious, and peaceful.

  There are no ripples.

  There is no reflection.

  A pain in deep sleep.

  Like Mary in Pieta,

  A face is taken off;

  the feel of a face remains.

  The lake at night.

  Drawing

  Do not erase these lines,

  let them be.

  My child

  has drawn them,

  with her little pink hands.

  Curved and curly.

  What if the lines

  do not make a form?

  In these lines,

  I see my child's hands.

  In these lines,

  I see myself.

  Images

  We were in the hall

  watching the film.

  The actors seemed

  alive and real.

  They were larger than life.

  With eloquent words,

  profound thoughts

  and heroic deeds.

  We were actors.

  You took the lover's hand

  and bestowed life

  on his chest

  with a drop of tear.

  There was a thunderous

  applause.

  How real the actors

  On the screen.

  How false the two images

  Sitting in the hall.

  Portents

  Tonight again,

  the moon's forehead

  is full of fumes.

  Tonight again,

  I'll have to burn

  in the fragrant dark.

  Tonight again,

  the pent-up breaths

  jammed in the chest

  will burst and splatter.

  Tonight again

  I'll stay awake.

  Dreaming of you.

  Crossroads

  Roads, lazy and brisk

  leave this crossroads;

  Some go towards

  rocky mansions,

  others to glass houses

  and nests of straw.

  A road to the desert

  winds into a whirlwind.

  Another descends faltering

  into the valley of death.

  A road enters the jungle

  bruised in brambles.

  Yet another rushes and jumps

  into the unknown space.

  I am at the crossroads

  from where the roads lead

  every which way.

  Shade

  I walked in the shade

  protecting myself,

  for I wanted

  to give my soul,

  a body.

  Without blemishes.

  Without scars.

  A body,

  not scorched in heat;

  A body,

  without wounds.

  Without pain.

  I wanted my soul

  to wear a body

  of a soft and radiant

  virgin morning.

  But, only when I passed

  through the blazing noon

  of pain

  my soul could find

  some shade.

  Strange is the kinship

  of pain and solace—

  You find shade

  only in the sun.

  Letdown

  My body rattles

  made of bamboo shoots

  tied with splinters.

  If a string snaps

  or a knot gives way,

  the body's frame

  will fall to pieces.

  Poor soul!

  It had mistaken

  my body for a flute

  and had entered

  to play a melody.

  My shadow and I

  We have separated,

  my shadow and I.

  He complained,

  I chose to walk

  in the dark

  to wipe Him off.

  My complaint:

  In light, when I need

  no company,

  He appears to please me.

  In dark, when I need

  solace

  He disappears.

  We have separated

  my shadow and I.

  Model

  If the back had been bare,

  the clothes tattered and torn,

  the lips parched

  and the body starved;

  If it had shown red

  where the scab was peeled,

  then,

  this picture of the poor

  would have sold for sure.

  Morning

  By the time I get up,

  rub my eyes, arrange my hair,

  and smoothen the folds

  on my crumpled covering,

  I find the pretty girl morning

  already there

  with her saree edge

  tucked at her waist

  priming to clamour with me!

  This naughty, playful

  pretty girl morning.

  Lonely

  The path runs

  straight and open.
r />   There are no trees for shade,

  no walls for support.

  No eyes stare.

  No faces whisper.

  There is no one.

  No one at all.

  You may find

  a few footprints

  for a few steps,

  but those would soon

  be gone, whispering:

  Walk alone

  with your own loneliness;

  No one will go with you.

  No one at all.

  The path runs

  straight and open.

  Splinter

  A piece of a poem

  drifts in my breath.

  All day long.

  I rolled it in my mouth,

  it cut my tongue.

  I held it in my teeth

  it bruised my lips

  like a splinter of glass.

  I can neither swallow it

  nor throw it out.

  A piece of a poem

  drifts in my breath.

  Separation

  You gathered the night

  in your arms and

  clasped it to your breast.

  You sang lullabies,

  told stories,

  and put it to sleep.

  You spoilt the night

  by pampering it.

  Without you, now

  the night sobs

  alone in the bed.