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| Mariner's Reach, Denarau, Fiji. |
How
many nights must you spend under a roof,
before
you can call it a home?
Some
say just thirty, others a thousand,
but
I say to you – listen closely, my friend,
there’s
no magic number, no theorem that proves
the
time span that seals your claim.
A
few aches are certain every time you move.
Thirty
or thousand it’s all the same.
But
there’s that horizon, oceans that heave,
a
pink sky so breathtaking,
and
a bird call can fling your life open.
Home
has its place, but the wider world beckons,
your
feet forget themselves and pack to leave,
done
with walls and the same dawns breaking.
One
step. And two. Dust eddies round your feet
and
somewhere a welcome is waiting.
There’s
that long horizon, pathways that twist
in
and out of unknown forests.
The
light is a tunnel that lures like a trap,
the
ribs of leaves are rivers on a map,
the
breeze writes gently on your back and lists
the
things that can unravel rest.
And
somewhere a welcome is waiting amidst
strangers’
smiles to the east or west.
Here
it is cosy, the smoke from the stove
spiced
with cinnamon and anise.
Secret
garnets in the depths of tamarind,
the
slow unfolding music of the winds,
butterfly
wings in someone’s mango grove
in
some weird definition of bliss.
The
paddies are furred and rich, seen from above –
the
world has its place. So has this.
So
that’s it – you’ll sway, swing back, twang away,
the
horizon just out of range.
The
airplanes will keep flying overhead
to
different cities with others instead.
The
ships will weigh anchor and go on their way –
you’ll
always be chasing change.
And
you’ll wonder how many nights and days
make
home and what makes a roof strange.
All
your days you’ll fritter away in research
and
find that numbers mean nothing.
Only
the movement of road, car and coach,
the
aerial view of a strange town’s approach,
the
spiral of descent, the craft’s thrilling lurch,
the
horizons in blues and pinks.
Only
being out and away by and large
gives
roofs their final meaning.
Welcome to M-i-V! - now based out of Kolkata! Hopefully, for good. I thought I'll post a bit early since I've been away for so long...and say things in...um...slightly more expansive wordcounts. It's also been the longest time since I wrote anything more than a 14 liner. In fact the last long-ish poem I wrote was in 2017 - Remembering Zeinabu.
The pandemic years have made me shrink in many ways, this is one of them. However, it's time to put that behind me and open up a bit - it's the fourth year of the Big P and my store of small p patience was never really robust. Neither is my word (limit) control. Expect longer stanzas, line counts, ramblings...thank you for reading and your time!
There's lots happening this month, both on the personal front and online. The offspring has come home for a few days and the aforesaid home looks like a disaster zone, but who cares? It's good to have the family under one roof, even if it is only for a fortnight. I hope to be back to regular posts here, also get back to my normal reading as and when I am able to straighten the house out. A few aches are certain every time you move...I'm finding many layers of meaning in that line. The bookshelves are full, even though in complete disarray, a hodgepodge of Bengali, English and genres - Emily D is next to Asimov and just looking at that is freaking me out... :) There's no way anyone can ever locate a specific book in this current mess. That's a job that needs tackling pronto but will have to wait till son flies back to uni.
Online, there's WEP, the Chocolat Challenge, I can't say enough about that deliciousness however many wordcounts you allow me... so excited! And looking forward to what people write for this one!
I hope the month has started well for you and may it continue throughout. Have an awesome August! See you soon.
