scenes / 1
 
startling
the splash of an oar.  the boatmen's
pulling, hey-o.
darkness.
                                                she's a
girl from across the river.
the
mother left on a trading boat.  her
modesty
bought
wholesale by a Chandpur merchant.  when?
how
much?  without interest!
                                                she
rests her head on bricks in jail.
wakes.
sudden
the splash of an oar.  cutting without
forgiveness
through
the black water.  in the dark current.
 
 
scenes / 4
 
where
was the need to kill the cat,
to
smash its head, such a horrific sight.  
it
was
a
nuisance, that was all.
so,
the superiority of muscle and intellect
—was
anything proved by this,
conceit
gratified, honor brought upon mankind?
not
that, certainly; rather, it was all
comical,
even if the viewer didn't want to laugh,
nor
the doer himself.
 
lip
inside lip, fingernail delicately touching breast
may
engender an embarrassment;
—who
can say with certainty
that
to stretch the imagination this far, is itself 
laughable.  maybe.
 
scenes / 7
 
 
wind.  dust. 
heat.  at play
the
immense supernatural wilderness.
 
the
farmer boy holds a fistful of hay
motionless,
calm, unblinking
 
and
all the world and planets watch breathless.
this sunshine doesn't know
 
 
 
this
sunshine doesn't know, it knows nothing at all
doesn't
know how to touch, doesn't know how to smell
how
polite and extremely helpless
it
falls, unconcerned, across the entire field
 
this
sunshine doesn't know, it knows nothing at all
throughout
the land the grass scatters as ashes
on
every tree the leaves almost withered from disease
screaming
caw, caw, all the marshes burn
 
this
sunshine doesn't know, it knows nothing at all
how
polite and extremely helpless
it
falls, unconcerned, across the entire field
and
from main street to river-bank, men's charred bodies
 
Gaodiya
 
 
Gaodiya,
it might be a village,
town,
or marketplace,
even
all Bangladesh.
scattered
about here
meaningless
births, meaningless dreams or nightmares,
the
rusted muscles of battle-weary arms, plough-blades.
with
the force of the terrible flood, the burst-open ribs
of
the river, the darkness within.
gashing
the pitch-black night, the motherland's sigh.
 
poems
 
 
1
 
some days the boat leaves
the bank just this way
just this way the
ceaseless rain without reason 
on some wet path,
deserted, village streets slippery with mud
some days, embracing
the rain just this way, alone
comes the evening; on
the banyan leaf the destitute crow alone
in the wind ceaseless
tears without reason 
on some days the boat
leaves the bank just this way
 
3
 
the grass always
deceives
slender naked and soft
it hides inside itself
scorpions toads a
legion of spiders
 
the grass always
deceives
restless youth aroused
enfolding in its heart
a serpent's lissom
strike
 
4
 
in the eye of the
tranquil water someone entirely without reason
threw a rock in the
meditating water
the round wavelets
just woken from their dreams
somewhat alarmed,
confused, bustled and broke one upon another
with that a face
suddenly breaking the bolts of memory
a wet laugh, chapped
lips, knocking its head upon the water
in the eye of the
tranquil water someone entirely without reason
threw a rock; threw
the world into chaos 
 
5
 
so much light and the
light engrossing you 
so much rain and the
rain besieging you
so much sky and the
blue saturating you
helpless so helpless
 
near the swiftly
rushing main street
shaken by one or
another's kindness
a small tree now
somewhat grown
near the forest's wild
old age     near one's own greenness
 
how guilty you are,
how helpless
all across Bishnupur
 
 
all
across Bishnupur the leaves fall this cold evening
dust
and hay dance in some light some shadow
in
every house the lamp-flames quiver in the buffeting wind 
 
all
across Bishnupur nervous cows and buffaloes 
returning
from canals and marshes, breath sharp and loud,
walk
bewildered past the duck pen
 
all
across Bishnupur the water-snakes wait
suddenly
the vulture flaps its wings and cries,
tearing
into the darkness.  as if someone were
walking
 
all
across Bishnupur, across the disused ghats
in
the sheltered undergrowth two sharp eyes burn with greed
startling
the bat hanging in the bamboo grove
 
unknown
feet scurry across the thatched roof
a
sudden splash rises by the green-covered pier 
a
tamarind branch, creaking, breaks and falls
 
without
reason; across Bishnupur the fearful bodies 
huddle
under old sheets, anxious and unmoving
a
few reluctant frogs climb over the threshold
 
in
the throng of the nearby korui
tree, a night-bird whimpers
all
across Bishnupur an uneasy sleep descends, and then
the
cobra comes from its hole and spreads its murdering hood.
a slice of sudden lightning
 
                                                                                  
                                      
lustrous painted
body     a slice of sudden lightning
from dreams to
reality     from reality to deep sleep
 
inside the earth the
grace of shelter food air and sun
thrusting from the pit
of the mouth     running flame like a
snake's hood
 
not within eye's reach
the arcane comings and goings of experience
letting poison into
the bloodstream     people say it's a
sin
 
the body and its
strange colors     a slice of sudden
lightning
with reflection from
dreams comes reality     from reality
awareness
 
no burning pain no
grief no sharp stricken shivering
from sleep to deep
sleep     someone more dreamless
 
collapses without
benefit of burden     this they call the
serpent's bite.