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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