THIS DARK EVENING, SHOT WITH GLEAMS
.
It’s a shower of the late monsoon that just poured
A spell of furious torrents.I feel like a wet squirrel
shivering under a leafy twig, swaying, about to snap.
It darkens sooner today. I come out on the balcony.
The descending dark seeps into the pores of my skin.
Am I real? Alive? Am I ‘nothingness shot with gleams
of what I might be’? It is too dark now to see anything
around except a few bluish blinks, maybe, glow-worms.
It’s too dark to write anything either, except waiting for
the stars. A time I love. I do not know still who I love.
I feel being disembodied gradually, sitting like a shadow
at the shut door of someone I love. The dark tide rises.
Then out of nothing comes the moon, marvellously serene,
and tiny stars, very feeble, yet so very happy for some
reason of their own. ‘It is so easy to forget, in a worldly
life, to attend to these miracles. This breathing of mine,
is it a miracle, too? Why I breathe? For whose purpose?
What happens then if I cease breathing? Will those stars
know that I have stopped living? Or am I at all living?
Those small stars are now brighter, seeming to gaze at
me. Do they see me? Do they know what I am thinking?
Where do my thoughts come from? Isn’t again a miracle
that I feel I am? That I am being watched by the universe.
®© Jay Basu 26 September 2021
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A TEACHER ON TEACHER’S DAY
.
they came one fine and a breezy day
friends of soul n pupils of yesteryears
swept by their effusive love and regard
I felt humbled n overwhelmed, bombard
incessant of the atoms of their feelings
carried me away to a cold pasture where
time is frozen and melodies unheard are
sweeter, …. yet the stasis of ecstasy over
time bounces in flux throwing to the wind
a hapless teacher’s plea: 0, lente, O lente!
let them swim then in the stream of life
singing the nuptial bliss and renewing
and mothering new life to refresh
a decayed, moribund humanscape, settling somewhere
under the sunshine of Apollo, the rain shower of Cupid!
.
Picture courtesy: Anwesa Saha
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.
A DROP OF DANCE ON SANDS
.
as the body turns a harp
and love turns the harpist
it begins to bemuse itself
with a shower of melody
drenching itself to the veins
breaking itself into waves
tossing it up like a swirl
of the cloud on the tip of
a rainstorm rushing on
like a peacock’s dance in
cloud clapping, the body
dances with the melody
of the wind, winging gulls
playing with the heaving
and the burrowing waves
tingling in the sensation of
blood, throbs of the heart
keeps knocking the ribs
like rolls of white-crested
tides foaming on the sand
look! she is a foamy drop
of dance on the sandgrains…
.
Copyright@Jay Basu
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