Kolkata, West Bengal, India
To My Temple of Poetry
“If thou canst not ascend
These steps, die on that marble where thou art.”
- John Keats
In the retreating light of the day
My prayers for the poets
Connect with the open sky
How does one lose things? By forgetfulness?
How does a poet die mounting the steps to an altar?
Figures arrive and go before the fated hour.
These bricks seem to be watching
The hard ways of love and loss
Devotees coming and going
Keeping our separate hopes
I see the wan smile, not pinned
By human fevers and frets, daily rust
Rains in my forest town whisper
Over the roadside fields, forests green.
Meaning of Her face lurks
In meaningless efforts to raise sterile desires
In the crowless silence
In search of another prayer day.
The endurable sight of Kanakdurga remains
A voice that heals all pains of the world
I sit down here after a Hamlet’s song.
In old gestures in this reverent light
Hands folded for promises to mount some steps.
The Roof
I was never born with a roof
Never thought of it
It came to me
Like a Mexican dream
From the fields of Nairobi
Longing and dancing of Masai tribes
It came with the rivers
I didn't visit yet
But, will visit holding
Hands in my heart
Breathing fast and fair
Lips are busy
Eyes moving
Towards other eyes
Hands to hands.
I never thought of a Roof somewhere
A rooftop, terrace
Keyholes of calls
To see the world together.
I never visited the temples
You take me through
I love holding your thoughts
Kissing frantically to your loved
Roof is my darling rivulet
Roof is Buddha speaking
Roof is farmers' dream
Roof is fisherwomen's prayers
Roof is my mother’s weaving
Roof is my heartbeat’s dance.
It has waters of the Nile
Of the Ganges
Of the Jordan
It has seen many a deaths
Rulers, monarchies
All have gone by the wind.
It's raining now
You can't visit the roof
But, hold me as the umbrella
Over your timber
Where I keep my honey hidden.
The roof
You are in this afternoon
Waiting
Waiting for another call.
