by Bibhu Padhi (December 2014)
for Anjana Basu
There’re colours I fail to describe,
movements that suddenly instill
the old, inherited fears in me.
I wish you had showed yourself
more frequently, so that
I could have related you to the sky,
the trees, the sea, the flowers
and fruits, the bushy undergrowth
under my bare feet.
It seems, my fear of you
holds me back. There’re times
when I’ve seen you, your
colours and movements,
suppressed under an indifferent
machine, by errant children.
I think I know where beauty is,
though I hardly know from where
this old fear comes.
Perhaps, there will be a time when your beauty
and my fear shall coincide, stay on,
and I shall fall in love with you, honestly.
From inside the large glass chamber,
you will look at me and recall
your earlier death, and I shall touch you.
Please, do not leave me among
the earth’s poisonous rounds.
I well understand the fear in you.
Bibhu Padhi’s eighth and ninth books of poetry, Magic Ritual and Brief Seasons: 60 Love Songs, appeared almost back to back earlier this year. He lives with his family in Bhubaneswar, India.
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