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

Dream Making

 

Dreams are made on

vaporous wishes

transformed into

forms shapes

without any logic.

They say you can't

stop dreaming as you

as you cannot stop fighting

but thankfully

I don't remember any dreams.

 

I dream wakefully

I dream of a hungerless world

disease free, dancing along

the shores of an ocean of love.

But you'll say these are vain dreams

Yes I know, vanity thy name is dream

you want to live in

the best mansion  of the world

you want to be the Number One

in everything.

you want to conquer death.

 

I have my own vanity

I want to make dreams

in relationship in work ethics

and all activities

involving creative energy.

This is also vanity

the vanity of the human mind

to rival the Master above.

I  Dream with

pride, vanity, humility

questing for a dreamless life.

Sabita Sahu 

 

Interviewing God

I am now at my table

littered by books and notes

What shall I write?

Shall I write -

If the sky turns turtle

and becomes an inverted bowl,

will we all fall into it

in flesh and blood

and offer to the earth?

No- no that is absurd.

 

I will interview God -

My first question will be-

 now that you have created life

and its myriad forms

how do you fill your leisure

Do you enjoy- the communal riots

the pandemic, the corona virus

changing form and character

as we change clothes

four times a day.

 

Do you enjoy the Ukraine war

the blasted buildings

bombed out cities

homeless streetless

roadless vacant debris

and the party changing man

hiding their own shame

in seven star hotels.

 

God looked at me

Did I permit you to interview me?

I looked at him-

Why you are our Father our creator

for you there are so many

temples, churches mosques

do I have no right to ask my father

God chopped in -

Yes yes I have given you rights

you can ask but

ask only one thing:

Does God need to reply

to questions which are wrong?

 

God smiled again

if you don't want to play

this power game of life

come and sleep in my lap.

Sabita Sahu

We Are Indomitable

Half of Odisha is under water

all rivers in spiteful spate

the Mahanadi too is overflowing

Men women crouch in fear

no news is this only memory revival

the great annual ritual

crowds love

Hurricane storms

thunder strikes

love this ancient land

of proud Odia

who has never surrounded

to these fake lovers.

 

Floods storms come and go

we know how to ride

the rise and swell

the cruel search of

nature’s fury to bow to her

hold her in reverence

for we know her anger

is  an act of love .

Our spirit rises

we stop the sea

we make the rain gods

go back  after taking a few lives:

Our appeasing sacrifice.

 

Nature is more human

more generous and kind

than the marauders who kill

all innocence, destroy out deities

loot our nourished prosperity

we are alive we are powerful

we have defied the invaders

we will now rise with our love

for man’s future.

Sabita Sahu

 

Gandhi

 

I never saw you,

you were always a photo

an image forced on memory

by your great life.

Attenborough opened my eyes

after watching your works

well coursed by Ben Kingsley.

I wondered: Is it true a man could be so great

without clothes, food and power!

I bowed to your photo

which still hangs on my wall.

 

You are the father of the Nation

you made Indian free

to abuse man , country, nation

to dispute your Fatherhood

you fell to bullets of hate

your love was in flames:

people wrote obituaries

I read in the 1990's

double edged hypocrisy

in polished language.

 

But I adore you

not as my ideal

for if I follow your values

life will take away

the little joys we dote on:

I adore you for your courage

how could you rise against

the enemies of human essence!

See today the enemies are here

in our free country

nailing your picture

in inhuman haste.

Sabita Sahu

 

Blocked Up

I never wanted to be a wave

in the sea to rise and fall

to advance and return

repeating myself Sisyphus

like achieving nothing

 

I wanted to flow like a river

with a soft murmur

inviting birds, beasts and men

to quench their thirst:

I wanted to swell in the rain

and flow indulging my

propensities for over excitement

to bless life all around me.

 

But they built bridges

smoking clouds from chimneys

of craze for industries chocked me

as the fuming words at home

made my nights agony filled

and soporific: but I never slept.

 

Today I am drying up

by the heat of life

at home, at office and

on the public stage.

Who will come like

rain bearing clouds

to make me full again?

Sabita Sahu