Along the light of the haunted pear tree
Along the light of the haunted pear treethere is such coming and going
of Kharosthi script
then khar-muj
then orchids
then dew and calling birds.
Now, look a little elsewhere,
where the bees are,
where the swans are,
where Behula is.
Amid all these gatherings,
am I
that person
who has
no pond of his own,
who has
no soil of his own,
who has
no passport photograph of his own,
who has
no memory of his own,
who has
no bhur-bhuvah-svah of his own,
and yet,
hidden away,
in the shadows,
there remain
some
whisperings,
some
half-boiled things,
some
Tomato ketchup
some
bile-disease,
and
that dreadful
midnight
scratching
inside the ears.
O Auntie,
O Aunt,
O Miss of Mathematics,
the births
and rebirths
that have floated away
upon the waters of the sea,
am I
the tree
where their fallen leaves
still gather?
Poetry by sinha murari
Read 78 times
Written on 2026-09-02 at 09:54
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