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.
