Stumbling at every step
where will I finally arrive?
Destinations – some
blast-scoured lie like open wounds;
destinations – some
burnt, caught within a forest’s
destinations – some
with an iron lock bolted shut.
Even that aspiration of ultimate arrival
strung in clear sky, in dream,
is consumed by flame
All my possible destinations ignite –
like mind – spreading – burning.
Dove in hand, I wanted to emerge,
arm in arm with the others.
Screams and running shouts,
a rapid burst of gunshots,
eyes choking, throat itching
mind whirling, brain-dazed conflict
full of bloodshed and the stirring
call of the conch –
why does chaos reign out there?
My mind, under construction,
borne on by the pinnacle’s dare,
invents the dream of the future.
Up steep slopes, breath-paced
lured by what will unfold,
catching hold of the lit crags of the Himals
where small goats together,
teasing and playing,
reach the threshold of fortune.
Suddenly falling –
this installation under construction
shattered into pieces.
Now with what apparatus
shall I take out my eyes that once drew you in?
With what instrument shall I simulate
blood flowing, touching and moving the heart?
In which cemetery shall I put,
compressed and buried,
the congested memories of my brain?
In which court shall I stand
begging for justice?
Justice! That indeed
couldn’t take root in your mind,
nor seep into your eyes.
Within the petition – without the respondent –
how long shall I attend the court
locked into the petition?
You! Always and ever silent
You’re obtuse. Unresponsive
Nothing can touch or turn you
Between you and me
I couldn’t make adamancy melt.
I am melting with the glacier,
flowing – flowing aimlessly,
moving on without destination.
This flow may not reach you
Without banks and steps down
I flow with the sandy shore
This suffering of the flow,
this painful sigh,
could not cross onto the riverside,
the dry heart of sand.
I have suddenly fallen
into this solitary dreary desert,
into the heat of this fire,
seared, roasted, grilled.
With unquenchable thirst,
a fish of the suffering sand.
From the dream of the pond
the pond in the eye oozes.
Gulping back tears
how long can I quench my thirst?
More about the poet: http://sharmagiri.wikia.com/wiki/Benju_Sharma