MAHALAYA

In a dream of journeys, we sit huddled in a boat returning from Ithaca. I cannot see my face. The distinct freckle on my right palm is the only sign of reckoning. We enter the mouth of the river opening to the dark ocean. Before us sky grows thick,  lighting up swirls of fierce orange. Elsewhere it is cobalt. A row boat on fire in the sea. Ash trail of smoke suffuses the air. I want you to know. I am a survivor.

On a road winding uphill, I bicycle along, alone on the eternal journey. Cedar forest. Green holds out the solace of Earth. At the clearing grows a blue-bricked school. Whom do I ask about the way to my street?  You wait before a dispensary, frail, old, flowers on your sari. In that tender voice, you ask why I hadn’t let you know I am coming.

I know I am home.

In fragments of time, I realize it is Mahalaya. Goddess has commenced her descent to Earth.

Ten minutes past seven, the sky grows cloudy. Leaves are green, washed by undulating rain over the last three days. Sun goes into hiding. I feel an imminent need to speak to you. I hear your voice through the crackling line. A voice drenched in rain, shivering. We drift into journeys of mundane days- of skinning a fresh fish and a temple they are proposing to demolish.

To build and demolish in acts of preserving and destroying. Tea kettle whistles on the stove.

I have too many demolished memories.

In a strange dream, poetry becomes mathematics.

Click here to listen to poem in English.