Poetry

i want to pack up the night and

i want to pack up the night and take it with me…

wrapped in its folds are stars and stories from afar

afar and farther away, even farther than that, where

where something of me lives, i’ve known of it long

known? no, perhaps not that. knowing is so reduced

lit with shining bright light, harsh and stentorian

insistent, unrelenting, blinded by its own glory

there’s the night, dark and darker still, calling me

to those stars, those stories, and yes, something of me

how far is the night, what dimensions hold its unshapeable

edge, where does it start, does it end…

 

dark, dark is the light of the world, my grandmother used to say

swaying her head, smiling a little, thinking of her lord named black

black and beyond was the night,

undisturbed unfettered complete

truth, it felt like truth

 

i exhale feeling the night in my throat

i wish i had swallowed it all up

and brought it back with me

to get lost in it later and

go to those stars, those stories, perhaps even me…

 

 

recently, on a trip to panchla near calcutta, where my brother and his wife have built a home away from the city, i saw the night after a long time. or so it seemed to me. i can still feel its presence. hope you liked the lines.

indrani’s index

 

 

 

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