This Time of the Plague
This time of the plague
when darkness stares the sun
in the face;
the unfinished looms large;
the untuned, the rough
mocks venus.
Memories of the mother,
a scene at the grave of aurobindo
the man will not return to his family
as his family drags him out;
a brief vignette of Tukadoji as he waves a chalo, moving fast with his duff and his devotees.
Krishna in the bush.
A long plane ride east from calcutta
tears, holding, leaving,
knowing not knowing
unable to understand the leaving that forever will haunt, un-understood.
Distances grown
pieces multiplied
opportunities missed
song unsung.
How will this end?
This life that stares you in the face
that you thought contemplated death its entire length
with satisfaction, confidence
When it arrives en-masse
threatening to dismantle your dream
challenging, staring, mocking.
Did you squander your opportunity?
well chosen,
Did you blow it?
So he tries
Desperately.
Reads text books, stories of godmen, godwomen
struggling with a sleep
that will not awaken.
reciting large footprints
calls, circles
Trying ever so hard to run back, stare, to own
that which would swallow him
to make him whole.
No legend,
no finish line,
no light of the light.
How will it end?
These hours of the grocery and the lock
Of struggling with the chair and the bed
Of seeing the ineffable, the missed.
Promises lost
like beads of the moonlight.
Heritage of the fort
spilled accidentally
in a language unknown, unlearnt,
unable to unlearn the language known;
unable to traverse the path that seemed clear.
Too clear.
Lost in the woods, in the fog.
Will the known be unknown
the moorings, jump, space
the unfathomed, unknown, unseen
expand catch hold find leave
the unknown the large the that?
Go forth traveler,
be scared.