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 © | Year Posted 2010

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