POETRY EDITOR Ananya S. Guha's note: Mitali Chakravarty’s poems alternate between spirituality and the down to earth. Her love poem is a testimony to the latter. There is an ethereally and a liquid ambience in her poems. Her poems are lyrical and eminently readable.
**
From Bodh Gaya to Saarnath
I
What did Buddha seek as he
meditated under the Bodhi tree?
Did its leaves, roots entangle
stillness into his bones? Was his
wisdom from the skies or the seas?
At a distance, the Falgu River
buries itself in sand. Thirsty
souls seek freedom in water
bubbling out of puddles dug
by seekers of redemption.
Sitting under the Bodhi tree,
the silence muted by voices
from the present, few forlorns
search for moksha where eight
lotuses bloomed enlightenment.
II
Divergent views converged at
the confluence of rivers — views
that differed from yore, from his
parental lore. Disciples gathered
to follow his new eight-fold path…
Now, relics scatter devotion
to those who seek. Crowds
bathe in holy waters that
consecrate the devout…do they
still recall the Prince from Lumbini?
Do they remember His ways?
Do lotuses still bloom where He
stepped, where Falgu buried in
sand stays invisible? The relic glows
on a full moon night in May and ebbs.
***
Asphyxiation
Smog throttles the air out of lungs
till you can no longer breathe.
Thick yellow carnality clings
like phlegm to silhouettes
grown immune to the stench
of burnt, putrid blasts.
They stare, talk in bunches,
unaware of the rot that spawns.
Munching monkeys swing
from parapets and trees,
now perhaps, sole heirs,
guardians of the past
— the past painted invisible
by bleeding bigotry, the stench
of chicanery mingled with
unwashed sweat and hate.
Anger — senseless, violent — wrecks.
There seems to be no
respite from acrid fumes,
crimes, or fires that
ravage, annihilate.
And yet, I see the sprig
of spring bloom from the
mottled, trod-on grass
covering the ground.
Will it also lose its shades in
colours of rage brewing in
the bubbling cauldron of
unbreathable miasma?
Or is there still some hope?
***
Only Yours (A Love Poem)
I will find my way.
I will find my way
despite being an
invisible unknown.
Even if I don’t shout,
whisper or talk, even
if I remain silent,
you will hear me —
You will hear me in
the whispers of the
breeze and the rustles
of murmuring leaves.
You will hear me in
voices that carry
across space, from
faraway distant stars.
You will hear me in
the serenity of
moonshine, in the
play of sunshine.
You will hear me for
I live within your heart,
in the stillness of your
soul. I remain yours.
And only yours.
Bespoken for life
and beyond, I am
forever yours.
Even if you still me,
silence me or ignore
my calls, I’ll continue
loyally forever yours.
***
Magic
New dreams emerge
— like sunrises after
a long night. From the
darknesses of shattered
constructs, we emerge
stronger, more resilient.
When we feel, there is
nothing more — only
a deepening abyss of
chaotic nightmares,
when like Icarus flying
too close to the sun,
we are singed, burnt,
learning from phoenixes
we rise from our ashes
enervated with the love
of our beloveds, to again
savour the magic of life.
----
(Mitali Chakravarty likes to waft among words and clouds. She has a book of poems, The Flight of the Angsana Oriole, and another upcoming, Cities, Nomads and Rocks. Her poetry has been widely published online and anthologised.)
