by Sutapa Chaudhuri (October 2015)
Promise me the monsoons
When the summer-heat swelters
In a pitch-melting afternoon
And the lone white car
At a red traffic signal
Becomes just a vignette
Reflected on the glassy roads
Promise me the monsoons
When irreverent shadows
Of happiness play nonchalant
At the crossroads of pain
And the thirsty traveler
Dreams futile in a seductive
Mirage of oasis and dark waters
Promise me the monsoons
When the air smokes of
Ashes and burning funeral pyres
Moistened only by the tears
Of the broken earth and scorched
Red rice scraped off a broken pot
Staves off the hungry children
Promise me the monsoons
When green palm-fronds
Stretch their arms reaching
Up to the heavens on tip-toe
And the lightning-clouds
Thunder out a deep reverence
A play of light in the darkest storms
_______________________________________
Sutapa Chaudhuri has two poetry collections — Broken Rhapsodies and Touching Nadir. My Lord, My Well-Beloved is a collection of her translations of Rabindranath Tagore’s songs.
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