Name: jagannath rao adukuri
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Once again.
Because my words had fallen
Into night.
They were not luminous.
When Rilke dropped them
They were.
But they fell into the same
Aggregate of darkness.
That time the script was promptly made
And sealed, waiting to be enacted and, later,
In the marshy outreaches of my somnolence
There arose several original questions
Of ethical propriety and logical integrity
The bit players seemed to evolve differently
When awareness took an abrupt turn
The leading up to and the denouement got lost
As always, I have to start all over again.
trying to read stories
in the noontime,when
least rain is expected
there is a hot chimera
on the tarred road
a lone woman with a
metal pot on head
poetry strikes now
in the whir of the head,
a body posture replying.
the sky becomes hot
in the pipal leaves
pictures are now colored
thin and brilliant
like dreams of purple
when nothing happens.
all that happens in
the transience of the hem
in the corners of leaves.
the body posture replies,
the question posed
then the reply ,in the body,
in the way it crouches
and in the colored back.
These people have come here
To solve earthly existence problems
On the river that washed sins,
Human bodies and buffaloes.
They came from a far off river land
Where sins are equally washed.
But that is of course another thing.
They are wearing dark glasses
And their lungis above kneecaps.
They speak an ancient tongue
And eat mounds of liquid rice.
But that is ,again ,another thing.
But when their boat reaches
Within sight of the manikarnika ghat
They are deeply afraid in their eyes
Like you,me and our ancestors.
(Manikarnika ghat is the ghat (river steps) where one meets life and death:it is the cremation ghat on the Ganges in Varanasi .It is believed that the soul will attain liberation if the body is cremated here.)
He interrupted us ,smiling,
In our endless dreams,
In the infinite space beyond
Where the eagles soared.
The earth came alive
Where his feet touched .
Thick conical leaves
Intertwined with his legs
To hide his splendid nakedness
From the sleeping world.
We felt small as if
We had to remain silent
While the earth came alive.
( The statue of Gomateswara , a Jain saint stands tall at Shravanabelagola in Karnataka- the world’s biggest monolithic statue constructed in the 10th century )
Then the drama continued
The words were spoken
From the guttural depths
Of a middleman’s throat
And washed by drops
Of sanctified water
The pursuit of silver
Went on in the waters
With sonorous words
Chasing multitudes of
Life-death shadows
The waters flowed silently
Over the rocks nurturing life
And its golden-brown ashes.
It had happened too quickly
As though it needed to happen
Experience then sat on my brow
I remember the first cataclysm
When it had fortuitously happened
In the green sea of nothingness
When there were no words
There was all-around green fluid
My breathing was slow and rhythmic
My reaching out was tentative
Now again it is spasmodic, yelling
I want to reach out, my palms
Cupped in clumsy supplication
Then I did not ask to be born
As a mere chemical experiment
I do not want now to cease to exist
Merely as another cosmic event
Leaving a trail of flourescent words
Tell me quickly what I shall do
With the luminous astral pieces
I have been garnering all these days.
When one tries to get back to the muse
One is steeped ,like stick in the mud.
One keeps twittering like the night bird
Deeply afraid that the wind comes,
In the sea of night, bird does not see bird
But fallen leaves and broken twigs
And these are no images for nest making.
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