A Room of One’s Own
by Bibhu Padhi (November 2013)
This one was different in size
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
Each little thing sleeps, undisturbed by
every substantial change outside.
looks back in its sleep, waits for
my return. Which prayer for the future
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.
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