by Bibhu Padhi (November 2013)
This one was different in size
and shape than any other–
22’ by 14’, painted a pale brick.
This was four long months ago,
when I was inside it, always,
dreaming about home.
Today, it appears far behind me,
losing me to other rooms elsewhere,
sleeping through my old tales of occupancy.
Whenever I enter it now, I see
a cloud of dust suspended above its
neglected floors, as though the room were
someone else’s, at some other place.
Each little thing sleeps, undisturbed by
every substantial change outside.
But I’m sure, these days, the room
looks back in its sleep, waits for
my return. Which prayer for the future
shall revive it from its sleep,
its feeling of a cold absence?
The bed lies quiet, waiting for my
body, its warm smell of the years
reaching me even here, this seaside town
of temples where my prayers
for a return must fall on the roads
and floors, go unheard, unanswered.
__________________
Bibhu Padhi's seventh book of poetry, MIGRATORY DAYS A TRAVEL DIARY IN VERSE, was published in 2011. His work has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies, the most recent being THE HARPERCOLLINS BOOK OF ENGLISH POETRY (2012). He lives in Bhubaneswar, India.
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