The river did not break its fast
All my clothes are asking for a leave from my bodyI tell them, “Listen, my dear, don’t you go,
People all around will call me naked.”
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Dear little ones, listen to me,
There is a secret sorrow
Gathered inside the heart,
Teach them how to fly kites.
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Last night, on the roof of the third floor,
A shipwreck was written into existence,
Witnessed by the Kojagori moon.
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Stacks upon stacks of paper
Went to waste,
The river did not break its fast.
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There is no such thing as sorrow in my heart.
What exists is, in truth, a longing left unfulfilled,
And spread across all of it, once again, there is only you.
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O rain, hold me tightly,
Look at that playful mischief of water,
As though it might carry me away.
________________________________________
My compulsive hunger,
Passed very close by
Your olive-coloured waterfall.
________________________________________
The father sees his daughter’s hair parting filled with vermilion,
The mother sees the son-in-law’s masculine chest,
The daughter sees her mother’s hands and throat left bare.
________________________________________
It is not merely about bathing in the swollen river.
Beside the ducks frolicking in the river’s exuberance,
A joyous, intoxicating way of life gathers around the hijal trees.
Haiku by sinha murari
Written on 2026-09-08 at 14:52
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