By Dom Moraes The architecture of an auntMade the child dream of cupolas,Domes, other smoothly rounded shapes.Geometries troubled his sleep. The architecture of young womenMildly obsessed the young man:Its globosity, firmness, texture,Lace cobwebs for adornment and support. Miles from his aunt, the old childWatched domes and cupolas defacedIn a hundred Read more…
By Dom Moraes Smear out the last star.No lights from the islandsOr hills. In the great squareThe prolonged vowel of silenceMakes itself plainly heardRound the ghost of a headlandClouds, leaves, shreds of birdEddy, hindering the wind. No vigils left to keep.No enemies left to slaughter.The rough roofs of the slopes,Loosely Read more…
By Jayanta Mahapatra Dust seems in no hurry now, sailingthe air. A ten-year-old girlruns after her home-bound cowsthrough the ingenious sunset hour,glancing briefly as we pass bybut gives no sign that she has seen us. The day’s last lightsurprises us, leaving everyonesuddenly on an endless, desolate shore.And a small desire Read more…
By Jayanta Mahapatra Awaken them; they are knobs of soundthat seem to melt and crumple uplike some jellyfish of tropical seas,torn from sleep with a hand lined by prophecies.Listen hard; their male, gaunt world sprawls the pagelike rows of tree trunks reeking in the smokeof ages, the branches glazed and Read more…
By Jayanta Mahapatra The yellowed diary’s notes whisper in vernacular.They sound the forgotten posture,the cramped cry that forces me to hear that voice.Now I stumble back in your black-paged wake. No uneasy stir of clouddarkened the white skies of your day; the silenceof dust grazed in the long afterniin sun, Read more…
Jayanta Mahapatra Endless crow noisesA skull in the holy sandstilts its empty country towards hunger. White-clad widowed Womenpast the centers of their livesare waiting to enter the Great Temple Their austere eyesstare like those caught in a nethanging by the dawn’s shining strands of faith. The fail early light catchesruined, Read more…
by Jayanta Mahapatra In the darkened rooma womancannot find her reflection in the mirror waiting as usualat the edge of sleep In her hands she holdsthe oil lampwhose drunken yellow flamesknow where her lonely body hides © Jayanta MahapatraFrom: Collected PoemsPublisher: Paperwall Media & Publishing Pvt.Ltd. (2018)
By Jayanta Mahapatra A grey haze over the ricefields.The black cow grazing with her new-born calf,long-legged, unsteady—or trucks going past the high road:such things only claimthat I am looking out in search of memory,not death. Those little kisses on our cheeksmy long-dead grandmother gave me, orthe soft dampness of my Read more…
By Gieve Patel It is startling to see how swiftlyA man may be slicedFrom chin to prick,How easily the bonesHe has felt wholeUnder his chestFor a sixty, seventy yearsMay be snapped,With what calmLiver, lung and heartBe examined, the bowelsNoted for defect, the brainFor haemorrhage,And all these insidesThat have for a Read more…
By Dr. Gieve Patel It takes much time to kill a tree, Not a simple jab of the knife Will do it. It has grownSlowly consuming the earth,Rising out of it, feedingUpon its crust, absorbingYears of sunlight, air, water,And out of its leperous hideSprouting leaves. So hack and chopBut this Read more…