Friday, 17 May 2013

Moving







The soul clothed in the folds of skin and flesh
the flesh housed in concrete walls and cells;
the soul switches its costumes and that’s death
what’s it when flesh changes housings, travels?

 

The shapes of shadows morph, the leaves, the street
names change to strange foreign tongues, can life then
be same in differently fashioned concrete?
where absent fig tree shade shocks the garden;

 

the same silver but different the anklets
on the feet of passing women, the wells
few and far between, even the planet
changes her outfit, different here her veils.

 

You carry too much, you can’t take enough
this must be thrown off, it's outlived its use
no place perhaps to string mango leaves up
different the rules there, different charms, taboos;

 

get over the longings for a certain
size of courtyard, a blooming branch, a view
from a fixed window, casual, sudden
prints of careless altaa’d feet which stepped few

 

minutes too soon before the red had dried.
It’s not written - the altaa and anklets,
familiar jingling metals inside and outside;
workday sounds. That’s not for you, so forget

 

being rooted in the same courtyard and walls;
for rice paste painted wavy ears of  grain.
The body’s housing changes faster than the soul’s
the path stumbles on the rocky terrain.









8 comments:

  1. "You carry too much, you can’t take enough
    this must be thrown off, its outlived its use
    no place perhaps to string mango leaves up
    different the rules there, different charms, taboos;"

    Beautiful!!!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Beautiful as always Nilanjana. Your poems always strike a chord with me. Loved it.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Another beautiful one..... Keep going.......

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  4. A haunting ode to nostalgia, estrangement, life and death. Your words are irreplaceable each, your metaphors enlightening and compelling in their symbolism.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Thank you, Umashankarji and Indrani, for your very kind words.

    ReplyDelete

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