Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Rewind

REWIND

Your graveyard
among the crowded ones in Bhawanipore cemetery.
That it lies flat and the naked earth exposed
makes it more recent, your passing away,
you more close though five years ago.
Makes your living with us till yesterday,
your last day’s words alive and ringing true
 – a bell – like the quarrelling screech of a crowd of shaliks
from the neem tree from our bedroom window,
at the scampering squirrel’s continuous clittering.

I caress the earth, the roof of your room,
your own room,
the way i caressed your hair
refusing to believe the RMO’s words
that yours was artificial breathing
your skin soft, alive.

Craving for company
in the crowded emptiness
 of that eight-by-twelve room
at 6.45 am after the harsh news  
i called up Sucheta, Shikha,
their breaking voice ample for companionship
to bring my lost mind back.
Tony’s calm and composed voice
all the way from Dublin
possessed all the clarity as yours,
for i told you then that they were coming,
there’s no more worries.

Waiting, i spoke of the one Sunday
i couldn’t meet you and mom,
missing out on a phone call another day,
sepia-blue-yellow feeling of guilt.

I caress the earth, the roof of your room,
your own room,
and the mud-dark earth feels warm,
the little gravels, grey black red
wakes to my touch.
You speak through the trees’ voice
birds’ chirps, graceful moves of grass strands.

Remain close to nature as you always wanted,
we will not enclose you in marble covering
cold and artificial cross
and dumb cherubs
with wings and sweet nudity.

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