Friday, November 16, 2007

Letters


- I’ll write.

- Will you bring back prayers for me?

- I’ll write everyday.

- Yes, but will you bring back some bells too?

- Keep an eye on the mail. You tend to forget.

- You won’t bring back prayers it seems. Will you bring back letters then?

- I will send letters!

- Oh. Do send some prayers too. And silver bells.

- I will bring your bells, I promise I will.

- Small bells, but pure silver. They must tinkle sweetly, for they must compensate for everything I miss.

- Anything else?

- Can I send letters too?

***

On nights when the chorus puts an end to silence,
and their song unfolds on her wooden desk
she writes a thousand letters.

…I have heard that letters lose their way,
trickling into the hands of strangers…

And in those letters she said-
‘Bring back for keepsake
the muted prayers of the monastery
and the mist-like swirling colours
of the snow drenched hills.
Colours that would fill my palette…
for in splattered strokes your portrait stands-
unfinished.’

On certain nights of counting blessings
and remembering prayers,
nights of playing out desires-
the desire of clear voices and ink,
she writes a thousand letters.

...letters that do lose their way
losing themselves in the yawning strangeness
of strange men in distant cities…

***

12 comments:

The Mad Girl said...

oh my god!It's so beautiful!!I am groping for words...nothing seems to come my way...GOD BLESS YOU.

Sayak said...

looking for some crafted words to comment on your poem. lend me some, please do.

Riya Das said...

"…I have heard that letters lose their ways,
trickling into the hands of strangers…"

loved these lines best

beautifully written.

Jadis said...

This one made me think, at once, of dark blue valleys, runic stones and cigarettes after a tiring day.
Refreshingly beautiful.
Me loveth your style.
There's that elegance you find in doped poets. :P
Loved it. Really did.

Jadis said...

"Colours that would fill my palette…
for in splattered strokes your portrait stands-
unfinished."

Am I right in thinking what I am thinking?
A-hem.
Is it the fog? It's so recurrent in both our poems.

Inam said...

"the desire of clear voices and ink" - that's so powerful!! It sucks the reader in to the many layers beneath the pages, pages on which the poet writes, layers that are circular, oval, spindular, and I don't know what!
But I do know they are filled with a thousand beautiful letters to the silver star.

Arse Poetica said...

beautiful,beautiful, beautiful.

Parjanya said...

Somewhere a dead Plath writes to her ghost lover......and somewhere your 'letters' lose their abstraction and become real.....beautiful!

(¯`•._.•[Raaji]•._.•´¯) said...

i absolutely loved this. very articulate :)

crazyBugga said...

first things first, hideous look, kid.

Painting is amazing. She is really beautiful. I dint understand why those midget people are there under that chalice though? Maybe they are waiting for a few drops of that delicious mango juice (laced with honey) to spill from that cup? Kinda like how i wait outside women's colleges, waiting for some babes to pass by me.

Sunshine gal said...

Extremely poetic..It almost feels like the Beauty of a silent Night..Its so subtly enchanting, making me feel rather than think...
Vewwy Vewwy Nice..[:D]

moumita said...

i'll keep this comment v.short ...
"it's BEAUTIFUL"!!

"…I have heard that letters lose their ways,
trickling into the hands of strangers…"

loved these lines best...