Bibhudatta Mohanty

(Two Poems)

 

Rains Always

 

                            (for Jaya)

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know how this desire

 

 

 

 

sprouts up with the seeds hidden

 

 

 

 

 

in the safe embrace of mature soil

 

 

 

 

 

to bother when the rains come.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know what happens

 

 

 

 

 

in the depth of dark riddles

 

 

 

 

 

of those rain-soaked nights

 

 

 

 

when the eyes are blank and awake;

 

 

 

 

time, with its wet, heavy wings

 

 

 

 

perches on them, clutching them

 

 

 

 

with its sharp claws.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rains have always this element

 

 

 

 

of surprise with them when,

 

 

 

 

from your enclosed cell, you hear

 

 

 

 

the call of a wandering umbrella-repairer

 

 

 

 

out of nowhere; when

 

 

 

 

the dormant florae come out

 

 

 

 

 

in an abundance

 

 

 

 

 

 

of fresh and maddening colours;

 

 

 

 

and the heart longs for you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I remember discovering myself

 

 

 

 

during the last rains,

 

 

 

 

on a tiring trip

 

 

 

 

on the muddy path,

 

 

 

 

flanked by trees

 

 

 

 

full of peacock-flowers

 

 

 

 

in their burning crimson

 

 

 

 

and ponds full of lilies

 

 

 

 

in exciting red, blue and white,

 

 

 

 

leading through the green fields

 

 

 

 

to your remote village

 

 

 

 

and your blushing features.

 

 

 

 

Now the rains are here

 

 

 

 

to settle within me, forever

 

 

 

 

in your absence.

 

 

 

 

 

           

 

 

 

 

Sharing a Cup of Coffee

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the time of the year

when the sky is without clouds.

The punctual sun rises,

moves up in the sky;

you feel a lack of warmth all the same.

 

Your woolens, shawls,

and overcoats are insufficient.

You wish to share

a cup of coffee

with someone closest to you,

share your feelings;

she declines.

 

Your lips remain dry, parched,

as all your well-meaning words

are misunderstood.

The cold bites into your nerves,

makes them numb

to pain and pleasure, both.

 

You wait for the rustle

of familiar footsteps;

nobody turns up.

The sweet music

of the wall clock at ten,

the bright morning, chirping birds

and the bouquet

of seasonal flowers

on your table fail

to cheer you up.

 

Winter rules.