by Anupam Patra
It has been many autumns
I broke up with a childhood
to whose bright meadows
I have since longed to return
there were reasons for leaving
for choosing the road away
convinced by the list of causes I’d shoved
in the hidden pockets of hope
a home crushed by penury
whose head yielded to the humiliation
of a cataclysmic hurricane
leaving its dependants without a roof
propelling them to shame
of waiting for pity
and random gestures of charity
far perilous than wait for death
while I was mending walls
wrecked by regret of those it sheltered
childhood left me for a better devotee
giving up on me like a broken beloved
ever since, the snug fulfilment of living
has flashed at me elsewhere
in the grocer shop or at market square
in a fleeting hug and an inviting stare
done I was with my deliberate ignorance
of what I was losing,
it was a clean deal
when came the seduction of a better elsewhere
why then in this hush of affluence
the echo of old affrays haunts me?
now when the escape is complete,
why do I wish to turn?
am I not fulfilled?
‘tis strange that the nightmares of yore
no more scare me
what once crushed me into sweat
now walks to me as an old friend
knocking at the doors of loneliness
perhaps the future of my past
is a different ordeal
enough to stir desires of returning
to what I had abjured, like
comrades, first love and fiction,
sunsets, poetry, mist and purity of riverside dawn
the absence of commands
and the freedom from a master’s demands
the sunlight of knowledge
has dissolved the crust
of the many terrors in the pond of past
and exposed patient treasures in its bed
only to make me realise they have perished
as I dip my hand
gems I had no idea I was forsaking
blinded by desire to flee
if only I’d known there is always
a better than good
and a worse than bad
and what time offers in its wisdom
is best learnt when bravely lived
for there is a time for night, a time for noon
a time for healing
as nothing good ever comes too soon
Is it thus such a mystery?
why the figments of a broken roof
four estranged walls
and a lonely soul remind me today
how poor I still am
within a prison of imported curtains
dancing behind walls of pricey glass?
