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
Copyright © Murari Sinha | Year Posted 2010
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