Mirik,2004 Poem by Mandira Mitra

Now I save the clippings in my soul;
How run they? Let’s see:
The clouds dipped in the ketchup sky
Feel the rush of wind and eternity
And lest they part without a goodbye
Towering firs stretch their roots and gravity.
The looming fogs circle round and round
Touch the heights with pines and touch the ground
And mourn and laugh with a subterranean sound
And break upon the lake, lost and found.
Upon the hill are twenty thousand hills
Or twenty thousand islands of the flesh
Like wounded trees that yell, “ Rimjhim+Hitesh”
They weep and sleep and sleep and weep afresh.
Casual tourists, we mesmerized take
Stories of children drowned in the lake
And consuming king size lobster fries at lunch
Drown in nightmares and think we had ‘em too much.
Tipped between reason and insanity
I laugh at Mirik and Mirik laughs at me.