Page 11 - silent_secret

Red rises 1t:he road dust.
However long I stay at home
I don't trust my village
I never rouse my calumny hiberna't:ing in a vault of
silence.
The lonely pipal on our tank bank
Drops its leaves one by one into me.
The Monkey God of my childhood on the tank bank
is neglec1ted :
None 'to light the lamp
None to offer a Coconut
And none fo offer syrup libations in hYs asking hands.
The death-wish engendered by yellow buttercups
Is no more.
The black buffalos with water drying on their backs
Never return home.
Our childhood is all
A fancy fantastic fascination :
Discarding ithose clothes of innocence
For a suit whose nudity is hatefully pitiful.
The sun's ashamed of me
The bullock's bells in a dream
The churchbells from a distant river bank
An airfiight: taking off my forel1ead every minut~
On my back the ropes of Niagara.
In time the dreams don't: snap
Even if I stand and stare,
The oranges. 1t:onics; the ghost risen from the strinp;
bed
Makes me cry like Van Gogh's 'The Cry'
In fear
Fear
Fearing like Omkarnath Tagore
He He HP
Hateful, Hateful, Hateful"

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