November 3–9, 2008: June Nandy and KJ Hannah Greenberg

I will not wait for you

The late sky
dyed me indigo, while I stood
holding the iron grille of the window
Go to bed
said the plastic bags
dumped in the drain, wait no more
A beheaded tree
looked at me, I felt my
neck, there wasn’t any slit line
A night owl slept
Face down upon the window sill
the motor exhausts perhaps drugged it
Hundred lighted bulbs
from the highrise gold cages
told me, it was snowing there inside
An aero plane came flying
towards me, the house thankfully
is not tall enough to meet it in the sky
It was business
as usual with the roads
cars stopped by, to buy minor bodies
The bats have
Entered into me, my folks say
I hear supersonic, I look upside down
I will not
Wait for you any more
You show me a different world.

Ma

You, Gentlewoman
sat at the table, sipping Darjeeling tea
like an eighteenth century painting
the window behind, framing you

I was then, just a young camera
the long shots made you romantic
with the close ups, always classical
I could never edit you

you came across as fragments
in silhouettes, in shadows
in hints, in hurts
sometimes smaller than me

I read you as a thermometer
your silent mercurial blob
moved up…down, while you
hummed a folk tune like a
broken record player

the nights went to you without moon
I knew it, seeing your jet black eyes
your obedient black tresses
your sulking room

in the kitchen
the stove made you red
the smoke watered your eyes
while you straightened the tuberoses

now, when I see
a Bible, near a lone lighted candle
a Gita, on a rosewood book holder
an Azaan, wafting through the air

I know, you have made a home in me

You- a peace
You- a beauty
You- tolerance
You- goodness
You- god like
You- mine
Me- proudly yours.