All, Or Nothing At All

by Bibhu Padhi (May 2014)

I keep looking at the neem tree

in front of this rented house.

How proud it appears

this harsh summer evening!

Phosphorescent, its leaves

thin, glowing, almost translucent

And then, just a little farther away

its dry branches speechless, still,

fighting against nothing, proving

nothing, but only perhaps

a small friendship with me

and all those whom I love

and therefore call mine.

As I begin to feel where

inside me, I feel its

bare pain, it implores me

not to watch it straight,

but only sideways, from an angle

that hurts nothing, pities

It only waits for another

shake of greens, and asks me

in a voice that silence alone

as if the very touch of this

middle-age skin were sufficient

when no one is around,

except the night, its dark,

confidential, womb-like privacy.

To dream of nothing except

that invisible seed

which so carefully encloses

its heartwood life, as it

longs for another time,

a quickening of new leaves,

and of course, encloses too

this sleep-denied,

daydreaming, pain-tired me.

 

Magic Ritual, was published earlier this year

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