Sunday 8 December 2019

Unpacking







When you get to unpack the case, you’ll find
the folded river like a paper crane;
the courtyard, the terrace and the blind lane
have travelled with you, nothing’s left behind.

In some garment, in the collar or cuff -
the smell of rain. The lamppost under which
the poor sold bargains pressed hard by the rich
has come with you and can’t be shaken off.

Each time you inhaled, breathed in the air
and your lungs bloomed like trees of night jasmine,
the shapes of old yarns, skeins of old chagrin
are coded in your baggage tags somewhere.

The bends of roads, the blends of diesel smoke,
a certain blur of traffic and townsfolk.





 

12 comments:

  1. How true it is.
    A sound, a scent, a mood will unpack those elements for years to come...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hari OM
    The pure souvenirs! YAM xx

    ReplyDelete
  3. Gorgeous, Nila. Reminds me of putting off unpacking till the jet lag wears off, then, yes, the smell of memories. I especially like:

    "Each time you inhaled, breathed in the air
    and your lungs bloomed like trees of night jasmine,..."

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I don't usually experience much jet lag cause my journeys are rarely more than 5-6 hours at a stretch...thanks, Denise.

      Delete
  4. the blends of old chagrins.....what a line!

    This poem is exquisite.

    ReplyDelete
  5. That last line, the blend, the blue...

    ReplyDelete