Walking Janas

 

When I go to a temple

to ask for a wish -

I always think

what wish can any deity fulfil

when they wait endlessly

for the temple priest

to bathe and feed them

decorate them with flowers

to attract people.

 

Today the priests never discuss

what the people want

what human problems are

they simply chant the slokas

and slowly move away

to which we smile as if

we understood the meaning,

the looks of the idols don't change

the expressions are sealed

by the hands who made them.

I have what I want

what I don't have I don't need

I am full self sufficient

I love myself -

I am not sologamus -

I am full of love for

the people around me

if no one needs me

no one calls me

doesn't matter,

I call my God

in my daily shadow play.

 

It is not enough to live one life

eating, running to the hospitals

doing errands and living

every moment half dead

half alive like the 'Janas'.

 

Sabita Sahu

The Postman Cometh…

Daily I wait

dusting father’s old typewriter

unusual uncared for

my growing children.

I wait for his letter

long promised before

an age of poetry.

 

I remember he wrote

three times a day

the landline rang every hour.

He spoke in rhythmless

I love you dearest

you are my nearest

in this fretful world

of broken pyramids

and invaded temples.

 

He was like that

never spoke straight

always in couplets, riddles

looking at my eyes

to measure the sea

his mind always ran

in haunted gardens

to pluck a flower for

my luxuriant hair.

 

I know smile at myself

how many times I have

run to the dictionary

to understand his letters

how many times I have

 asked him to explain

the meaning of what he said

even now my lips glimmer

to light his life

with  a flowing kiss.

I craned my neck

 to the stretch of road

visible through my

kitchen window while

making the lunch box ready

it was empty yesterday

it is empty today

the post man’s cycle bell

is silent for long days:

Will he not write

the last love letter

or has he forgotten to post

or has he forgotten the art

of love in the words of

heavenly serenades.

 

Is he dead or alive

if alive how is it

the letter is undelivered

like the unseasonal fruit

of far off island

beyond the mortal world

where the love letter is

buried and gone.

Sabita Sahu

 

Waiting for Death

 

Who waits for death?

Death is not a guest

who will come knocking

the door at earthly hours.

 

What is death then?

The shuttling down of the senses

the closing hour of the mind or what?

It will come as experienced

in history on its own time

a life will end to give

way to another.

 

Waiting for death is non human

you die every moment

craning your neck to hear

slow footsteps like a terminal patient

in a hospital bed.

 

It makes me laugh

why wait for something

which is inevitable?

Waiting is a waste of precious time

which never turns back for

self correction of your regrets.

 

I live every moment

I will also live death

and embrace it with

dying lips planting

a kiss for the vast relief.

Sabita Sahu