Delhi: The Day Of Departure Poem by Debashree Kachari

Each day​ when the evening spread its wings across the yellow sky,
When the crowd gathers around
and when the air is heavy with odors of wine, CO, and sulphur.
We seat together, in a small corner​, amid the bustling street;
Of Mandi house, where wind of faces pass by.

There, we sing, dance and laugh at each other like those of comedians of Burlesque theater.
Where, some of us paint with undefatigued passion,
phantasmagorical images out of rugged charcoal and crayon.
And some of us talk about zen, about artists, history and of myth...
From the stories of untold love to unrevealed grief...
From shayeri to sex and religion,
Together we share and continue our conversations​ until
Words melt into an oblivion.
Also do we talk of fart and of setting fart-fire on wet grass.
And, thus, we cease from mundane rush.
Oftentimes, I look into their austere eyes, unnoticed...
For I have known them already, as from ancient times, and know their translucency for a while...
That reveals their yearning for the prize of life.
We hang out, like all other in the city
Indeed, with each other, in a Van Gogh
Café at Night...


" Well, we all hate our home " they said,
For we've made afond home out of delicate love.
I must tell o my friends
That we are the sand of time washes away by the tide of time.
And one day time will turn it's head,
And paint its own smudge on the canvas grey.
Shall we not depart?
We dare not to...
Because we said we hate our homes.
But, we have to go, to each direction
To the each end of the margin line
Where fate casts its fortunes nest.
It was nice to see you all.
To see you smile
To see the setting sun together,
If we had to go someday,
In thoughts, shall we meet
In dreams, shall we talk
Shed not a single tear,
For we have been happy throughout the years
For an Old man said it is the silent language of grief.
Dear all, though We must be going,
With a vow to meet again​
In an April evening, when the
Creepers will regrow out of the
Dilapidated city walls.