Paper Buckles 9 - 10

9. like the light like the dark yet it is full of the sound of steps again it wakes up on the forest-road taking leave from the yellow construction all the sound of the bamboo-flute sinks today into the green minerals it is not moonlight on the road it is some north-east sadness he who comes admits his body with the divine sin if you are sorry be water for three days now through out the day and night there is the paraffin of fire-flies the blue cough is not from the sky it may be some tusu-gaan fly off from the chest of the straight-line that has been wiped out 10. i’ve deposited my metallic heart to the archaeological-store of the wind and i send rolling this bare eyes towards the fog frequently i make the crystal of her hair soft i can see those crows whose jaws are not closed the colour is also as if it were burst into cotton can the anchal of danekhali sari swallow the kernel and water of the blue tooth-brash after opening its husk i say to the head with earnest request oh my father keep cool and look at the rain-pipe inside which there is all the dances of the peacocks 11. in the dim light the predecessors of the dead stars tell stories this dhaba is beside the long bus-root yet it is still not satisfied with the shrimps the tail of the black drongo hanging from the farakka bridge is divided towards the ganga towards the padma the gramophone of the mid-noon continues to sound at the midnight those who are doing pilgrimage on the back of tigers within the lighting zone of their torch all the nearest of men who get lost cover their faces you know very well that the memory-gland of the wind becomes how much river-minded when it walks through the fire